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SELECT POEMS 



^BY- 
GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 



With Date of Composition 



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In Exchange 
Duke University 
AUG 2 9 1934 



GEORGE* W. WOODWORTH 



EARLY POEMS 



A JUVENILE PRAYER 

Author of Eternal Truth, 

Guide me in the days of youth. 
Guard me by Thy Matchless might. 

Lead my wayward steps aright. 
Father, let Thy wisdom shine 

Into this dark soul of mine. 
Give me manhood, faith and love. 

Fit me for the life above. 

Jan. 1, 1881. 



TRUE FRIENDSHIP 



Should other friends deny thee, 

When fortune hides her smile. 
This one would still stand by thee 

And soothe thy grief the while. 
This heart would mourn thy weeping, 

This soul thy sorrow share ;' 
'Midst trials ever keeping 

Thy mind from vile despair. 



Jan. 1, 1881. 



EARLY POEMS 



THE STOIC'S SERMON 

Arouse, my friends, and suffer not yourselves 
To pine and die, base^ melancholy slaves. 
Such was I once, and such might have re- 
mained, 
Until the dark death angel bore me hence, 
Had not the light of reason burst the gloom^ 
AYhich long had shrouded my benighted soul. 
I saw the folly of despondency, 
And then resolved that, come whate'er there 

might 
Of life's vicissitudes or earthly woes, 
I still would be the same in ease or pain ; 
Alike unmoved amidst triumphant gleams 
Of fair success in what I undertook ; 
Or when the clouds of failure hovered o'er 
My purposed path, and hid the star of hope. 
Why should we droop and wither, like a 

plant 
Of tender birth beneath the orb of day? 
We are not things, but men, of noble worthy 
And framed to execute some high resolve. 
Our duty is to bless our fellow-kind, 
And. in that act, be doubly blessed ourselves ; 
For any deed of good which we perform 
Will be a source of peace in after years. 
Full happy they who, when they come to 

leave 
This "vale of tears," where care and sorrow 

bloom, 
Luxuriant amid the fields of Time, 
Can glance along their backward track and 

see 
That seeds of kindness, sown by them in love, 
Have made the walks of life seem fairer far : 
And if, besides, some nourishment they gave 
The tree of knowledge, whose wide-spreading 
boughs 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 5 

With a resistless and unceasing force 
Press heavenward, thej^ have not lived in 
vain. 

April 25, 1883. 



THE HOME OF MY CHILDHOOD 

In all my wanderings I have not found 
A place as dear to me as my old home, 
Though time has changed the scenes that 

once I knew, 
And wild Neglect her dingy mantle cast 
O'er what remains of childhood's loved 

resorts. 
Each time-worn building totters in decay ; 
Gone are the woodland walks I used to 

tread ; 
Man's ruthless hand has felled each cherish- 
ed tree, 
And left nie but the wrecks of what hath 

been. 
White tomb-stones stand where dust returns 

to dust ; 
And brambles rise where flowers once did 

bloom, 
And forms of beauty smiled on either side. 
The heedless stranger here for years has 

ruled. 
And 'midst those lovely scenes Destruction 

stalked. 

Such is my childhood's home, the sacred spot 
Where first my infant eyes beheld the day. 
Can mem'ry draw no veil before the past ; 
Or can the future still no solace bring 
To him whose roving footsteps now^ return? 
Can love's endeavor not repair those scenes. 



EARLY POEMS 



And beauty to that home again restore? 
The brooklet yet pursues its babbling course ; 
The river rolls its restless waters still ; 
And on the further shore the greenwood 

waves ; 
My native woodlands, to w^hose silent shade 
I loved to flee when boyhood's sorrows 

pressed, 
And life a burden seemed. No playmates 

cheered 
My drooping spirits in the hour of grief ; 
But Nature was my comforter and friend, 
And 'neath her care my childish fancy grew. 
Far dearer to my mind than tongue can tell 
Was the calm stillness of the forest's depths. 
How sweet to watch the inmates of those 

shades ! 
The nimble squirrel sported 'mid the boughs : 
The woodmouse frisked among the rustling 

leaves, 
Nor feared for danger from a well-known 

friend. 
To me the forest teemed with fairy forms, 
And in each object beauty met my gaze. 
These fair companions of my youth remain, 
xVnd shall the clouds of gloom my brow o'er- 

shade? 
Away such thoughts ! thrice welcome still 

my home. 

June 10, 1888. 



FOR AN ALBUM 

May contentment, that jewel of measureless 

worth. 
Endear to thy heart thy abode upon earth. 
Remember that w^isdom is better than 

wealth : 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 



Riches and pleasure compare not to health. 
In Life's earnest struggle, one purpose hold 

fast ; 
Let no obstacles daunt thee, hope on to the 

last; 
Let thy future be guided by thoughts of the 

past. 

July 15, 1883. 



HOPE S STAR 



(First Speaker) 
How oft have I sunk in despondency's surges, 
While the lash of time's waves seemed like 

funeral dirges ! 
Xo land was in sight and no lifeboat was 

near me ; 
Hope's star fled my vision and nothing could 

cheer me; 
Wild storms of adversity burst o'er the wave, 
And the future seemed dark as the path to 

the grave. 

(Second Speaker) 
We all must encounter some tempests of 

sorrow ; 
And each from the other can sympathy 

borrow. 
Today may be darkly o'ershadowed with 

sadness ; 
Tomorrow be beaming with sunshine alid 

gladness ; 
So why, 'midst the tumult of ocean and air, 
Should we droop in despondency, yield to 

despair? 
As we manfully buffet the hurricane's might, 
A light through the darkness meets dimly 

our sight; 



EARLY POEMS 



'Tis the beacon of hope, which again lends 
its ray 

To lead the lost mariner over his way. 
(Both) 

Blest star, o'er life's ocean our pathway to 
guide, 

A friend to the friendless whatever betide, 

Thou hast raised me from sorrow, from pain 
and despair. 

Full many a time, when o'erburdened with 
care ; 

And no more shalt thou leave me to droop 
on my way ; 

But strengthen me still with thy soul-cheer- 
ing ray. 

Feb. 12, 1884. 



SORROW AND WRATH 

How vain are our tears, and how vain are 

our curses, 
To right the prone structure of fortune's 

reverses ! 
The brain should be cool and the eye be 

unclouded, 
When the mist of misfortune our bark has 

enshrouded ; 
For the rocks of destruction then wait on 

our path. 
And our ruin is fostered bj^ sorrow or wrath. 
Away with your anger ! Away with your 

tears ! 
And let hope be your guide through the 

oncoming years ; 
While reason and will, by base passions 

unmarred, 
Shall scatter the gloom, w^hich your progress 
has barred. 

Mar. 8, 1884. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 



THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL 

Xovember's winds are howling, the days are 

dark and drear ; 
The withered leaves are l ailing, and death 

is busy here. 
Death blights the scenes of beauty that 

smiling Nature gave — 
Prepares the fading flowers for winter's 

chilly grave. 
When all around is dying and life is veiled 

in gloom. 
The lonely soul is sighing for refuge in the 

tomb. 
My country's voice is calling, and I must 

heed that call, 
Though in the war's confusion my bleeding 

form may fall. 
Farewell, farewell, my woodland home ! I 

leave mj^ mother's grave 
To strike for God and Union, where glory's 

banners wave. 
The rebel flag is floating ; I go against the 

South 
To face her gleaming sabres and dare the 

cannon's mouth. 
Accurst the chain of bondage where vice 

and anguish reign ! 
The blood of slaughtered legions must wash 

away the stain ; 
For Freedom's sword shall conquer and 

slaves shall be no more ; 
While on the plain of battle their masters 

writhe in gore. 
The despots of oppression deserve no better 

death 
Than in despairing conflict to spend their 

parting breath ; 



10 EARLY POEMS 



So down with evTy traitor ! our country's 

boast shall be 
An undivided union, its watchword — "lib- 
erty." 

NOTE — The above was written, as if by 
my brother Watson P. Woodworth, who was 
in Co. I, 2nd Wis. Cavalry and died at Mem- 
phis, Tennessee — G. W. W. 

June 1, 1884. 



LOVE'S INSPIRATION 

Time rolls his course ; shall ties of love decay 

When distance parts us from each other's 
sight? 
I think of thee where'er my footsteps stray, 

And but for hope my life were darkest 
night. 
At the sorrow and the anguish. 

Which my spirit must endure, 
Almost fainting as I lariguish 

'Neath this curse I cannot cure, 
I have laughed in wild derision ; 

Stern resolve I cherish still. 
Bound that naught shall cloud my vision, 

Or subdue my stubborn will ; 
Yet despondency before me 

Strews obstructions in my path ; 
Could thy beaming eyes watch o'er me, 

Vain would be the demon's wrath ; 
For love's magic spell can strengthen 

Fainting mortals for the fight, 
Though opposing shadows lengthen 

Into dark and dreary night. 

Sept. 15,1884. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 11 



THE HERMIT'S REPLY 

They ask me if I am not sad 

Because no kindred form is near ; 
But is there naught can make me glad 

Save human creatures witli me liere? 
I roamed among my fellow kind 

Where hundreds, thousands met my gaze ; 
And each, to other's presence blind, 

Pursued his solitary \Yays. 
Companionship in vain I sought ; 

The world grew hateful to my sight ; 
I found myself alone in thought, 

And chose to be an anchorite. 

Sept. 8, 1885. 



THE MARRIAGE 



In view of the numerous marriages cel- 
ebrated lately, the river-side poet submits a 
description of the first wedding which he at- 
tended, wherein the bride and groom quite 
calmly took part in a little "stabbing affair." 

We gathered in from far and wide, from 

scenes of daily action, 
The bridegroom and his lovely bride the 

center of attraction. 
Before the altar and the priest, while we 

looked on delighted. 
Or undispleased to say the least, their mutual 

vows they plighted ; 
And when the nuptial knot was tied, upon 

their knees they fell, 
And bowed their consecrated heads beneath 

the marriage bell. 
"Father of Light," the curate cried, while 

all grew very still, 



12 EARTA^ POEMS 



"Long may Thy peace with these abide — 

long may they do Thy will." 
Our hearts responded to that wish, our lips 

joined in the prayer. 
"Joy to them both, unmarred," we said : 

"long live the bridal pair." 
And then we shook them by the hand — tho' 

some did more than this. 
For through the sounding hall was heard the 

music of the kiss. 
By such exertions overcome, we longed to 

break our fast ; 
So to the festal hall below the couples gaily 

passed. 
High praise to her whose cunning hand con- 
trived that sumptuous board, 
With fruits, and cakes, and rich ice cream 

so bounteously stored. 
A gay and smiling, handsome group we sat 

around it there. 
And vowed that never wedding feast could 

with this one compare. 
Yet think not that this pleasant scene was 

free from signs of strife, 
For here a tragic deed was done by this new 

man and wife : 
With burnished blade of tempered steel 

grasped in each stern right hand. 
And grim resolve upon each brow, right 

face to face they stand ! 
With bated breath and pallid cheeks no 

motion dared w^e make. 
'Tis done ! the awful deed is done ! they've 

stabbed the wedding cake. 
For twenty minutes, more or less, we ate 

and drank and smiled ; 
Or with our softly-flowing speech each other's 

thoughts beguiled ; 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 13 



And then we hastily forsook the empty plate 

and cup, 
To join again in pleasant talk in regions 

higher up. 
At last the trying moment came — the parting 

of the friends. 
"Farewell," we fondly did exclaim ; so here 

the story ends. 

Oct. 25, 1885. 



MILWAUKEE RIVER 

Alone within my narrow tower 

I sit at midnight's solemn hour, 
And watch the silv'ry moonbeams play 

Along the river's shining way ; 
But, on the margin of the stream, 

The trees prevent the moonlight's gleam. 
Here lies the meadow, spreading wide. 

With shades of bush and tree allied ; 
While on the further margin stands 

The darksome stretch of forest lands. 
The scene displayed before my sight 

Might thrill an artist with delight; 
And, as I watch it from my door, 

I love my childhood's home the more. 
My dear old home it still shall be, 

The fairest spot on earth to me, 
Linked with the dreams of vanished years, 

With boyhood's mingled hopes and fears. 

Nov. 24, 1885. 



14 EARLY POEMS 



HOPES OF HEAVEN 

When this weary life is over, 

Then my soul shall calmly rest, 
"Mid the lovely scenes of Eden, 

In the bowers of the blest — 
By the Jordan's crystal waters, 

Where the trees forever bloom, 
And the strains of sacred music 

Banish ev'ry thought of gloom. 

There is respite from affliction, 

When we reach that distant shore; 
There our earthly cares and sorrows 

Shall molest us nevermore ; 
There the wicked cannot harm us, 

Nor the curse of foul decay ; 
No diseases shall alarm us ; 

All our griefs shall pass away. 

Dec. 10, 1885. 



SUICIDE 

Foul is the act which frees the slave 

By self-directed blow, 
From wrestling with life's stormy wave 

When adverse tempests blow. 
There's honor for that lofty soul, 

Who braves the fiercest strife ; 
And risks, while pressing to the goal, 

The precious boon of life ; 
And, if his heart's dear blood outpours, 

For truth or country shed, 
His name survives, the world adores ; 

He is not really dead ; 
But he who throws his life away. 

As worthless to retain, 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 15 



Shall mingle soon with other clay, 

Forgotten, false, insane. 
Whate'er befall us, let us still 

Life's darkest dangers dare ; 
And conquer with unyielding will 

The powers of despair. 

March 23, 1886. 



THE MISANTHROPE 

He feels alone, tho' 'round him words are 
spoken. 
And forms of humans flit before his sight ; 
The gloom that wraps his soul remains un- 
broken 
And life seems dark as everlasting night ; 
He cannot see beyond the dreary present 
Rewards, which are in store for those who 
work — 
For those who smile at things he deems un- 
pleasant. 
Rejoicing in the duties he would shirk. 

April 20, 1886. 



A Stcrm At Night In The Mountains 

Wildly the tempest roars ! 
Fiercely the water pours, 
While from the thunder cloud 

Lightnings are flashing ! . 
Here, on a narrow ledge, 
By the abyss'es edge. 
Watch I the torrent's might 

O'er the rocks dashing. 



16 EARLY POEMS 



In the dark shades of night, 
Screened from all human sight, 
When the black tempest howls. 

Love I to wander; 
Watch the swift lightning flash, 
Hear the deep thunder crash. 
And, midst the jarring strife, 

Lonelj^ to ponder. 

May 2, 1886. 



FOK AN ALBUM 



You have asked me for a line. 

And what better can I do, 
Than to wish your star may shine 

Ever fair and bright for you? 
That, whatever life you live. 

It may be without a blot. 
Like the book to me you give, 

Where I write ''Forget me not." 

Sept. 4, 1886. 



KIND WORDS 



There's no music we can borrow, 

Or of human or of bird, 
That can cheer the soul in sorrow 

Like a kindly spoken word. 

Sept. 10, 1886. 



MEDITATIONS 



If you would with pleasure ponder 
On the scenes the past has known, 

Scatter mirth where'er you wander. 
Strive to bear your griefs alone. 

Dec. 8, 1887. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 17 



ADVICE 

Jf there be one whom thou eaiist call they 

friend. 
Guard well thyself so thou shalt not offend, 
A thoughtless word or deed may break the 

chain. 
Aud true devotion strive to mend in vain. 
One moment may undo the work of years, 
And leave this world in truth a "vale of 

tears.*' 

April 30, 1888, 



CHEEK UP 



There are some things w^e should not lend, 

And one of them is trouble. 
Go. share your joys with ev'ry friend, 

And thus your pleasures double ; 
But keep that word from others' ears. 

Which, if it should be spoken, 
May break the heart of him who hears. 

Nor mend your heart now broken. 
We should not by our look or voice, 

Or even by our actions, 
Show that our hearts do not rejoice. 

That life has not attractions; 
For, as a cloud o'erspans the earth 

And all beneath it covers, 
So grief, that in one mind has birth. 

O'er all around it hovers. 
And yet, as darkness ever flies 

Before the beams of morning, 
Man's soul above his griefs should rise, 

His very ills adorning. 
As sunlight on the sable rim 

Of night's cold mantle shining, 
So reason gilds the woes of him 

Who thinks not or repining. 

Dec. 8, 1887. 



18 EARLY POEMS 



DEATH 

What is there in death to dread? 

When this ^year.Y life is sped, 

If we nevermore shall rise. 

Nevermore shall ope our eyes. 

But, within our dungeons deep. 

Find a never broken sleep, 

Still the end of life is blest, 

For it gives eternal rest ; 

And if, on another shore, 

We shall Avake to sleep no more ; 

If, amid the starry spheres. 

We shall roam through endless years, 

Learning more of nature's laws, 

Nearing the Eternal Cause, 

Is there aught in that to dread? 

No, thrice happy, then, the dead. 

Then at death we should not sigh. 

For 'tis better far to die. 

Jan. 7, 18S8. 



RESIGNATION 



As time rolls on I cease to grieve 

For that w^hich once my heart oppressed ; 
Hope beams again, and I believe 

That all has happened for the best. 
'Tis better far it seems to me, 

To laugh, although w^e may not win, 
Than long for what can never be. 

Or sigh for that w^hich might have been. 

Feb. 4, 1888. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 19 



CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE 

Changing like an April day, 

Hopes ^^ill come and pass away. 
Friendships fade or love decay, 

In this world of care; 
But the summer's sun may shine, 

With its rays of joy divine, 
Often, ere life's day's decline. 

Banishing despair. 

April 15, 1888. 



THE BUILDING OF THE STONE BOAT 

It was a stormy winter's day, 

The men were drivin in ; 
And yet they thought to idle stay 

Would surely be a sin. 
So, after sitting still awhile. 

And scratching of his head. 
The youthful master, with a smile. 

Unto the servant said : 
*'Lord bless me, John, I have a tho't ! 

Why now you need not wonder ! 
This is no time for doing naught, 

We'll build a boat by thunder ! 
A boat by horses to be drawn. 

To slide along the ground ; 
The timbers are already sawn, 

The planks are new and sound." 
So, while the wind without did roar. 

Safe from the sleet and drizzle, 
Jake used the hammer or did bore, 

John plied the wrench and chisel. 
While sound of building never fails. 

The master workman tall 
Amused the boys by telling tales, 



20 EARLY POEMS 



And, nieantime, made a maul. 
Tims busily the day was passed. 

And merrily as well ; 
And, tlioii^i>li the sky was overcast,. 

Their spirits? never felL 
Whv shonld it not be always so? 

When sorrow dims our way, 
'Tis better far to banish woe. 

And evermore be gay. 
Though all around our path be dark.. 

If reason lights the soul, 
The star of Hope will guide our bark 

When stormy billows roll. 
If usefully our time is spent. 

With willing heart and hand : 
We have no reason to lament, 

Our lives are truly grand. 

Jan. 19, 1889. 



OLR EDUCATIONAL SYSTEM 

When banded wisdom lifts her voice 

And scatters her opinions, 
The good have reason to rejoice 

Throughout those blest dominions. 
For ignorance and sin must sink 

Before the sword of learning ; 
And those, who at her fountain drinks 

From folly's ranks are turning. 
There is no nobler, higher cause 

Than that of education. 
It thrives beneath our country's laws 

The glory of the nation. 

Feb. 23, 188a 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 21 



WERE THERE NONE TO CARE FOR ME 

What is life, what is it giving, 
That I still should wish to be? 

It would not seem worth the living 
Were there none to care for me. 

Fortune waves her golden tresses, 
And her v^inning smiles I see ; 

But in vain are her caresses 
If there's none to care for me. 

Though the world were my possession 
I must stoop to fate's decree, 

And must languish in depression, 
Were there none to care for me. 

At the shrine of fame and beauty 
Thousands humbly bow the knee, 

But I pay my highest duty 
To the one who cares for me. 

Yes, life's burdens will weigh lightly. 
And my thoughts will happy be, 

While the flame of love burns brightly 
In one heart that cares for me. 

Jan. 26, 1891. 



•'t^ 



HEALTH 

riiere lies within the grasp of man no greater 

source of wealth. 
Than that v.hich springs from joy of life 

produced by perfect health. 

for our daily bread is surely not 

a curse, 
Since idleness breeds discontent, disease and 

pain or worse; 
While regularity of work, with wholesome 

frugal fare. 



22 EARLY POEMS 



Will keep the body at its best, and free the 

mind from care : 
Then who shall say that Fortune's smiles 

are for the rich alone, 
When on the eoueh of luxury their restless 

spirits !L»ToanV 
Bnt .i^ive me health, and all the frowns of 

Fate I will defy: 
And never from me shall be heard the burden 

of a sigh. 

Feb. 14, 1891 



AN OLD MAN'S COUNSEL 

r.et not Despair nsnrp the throne, where 
Hope should reign supreme : 

And be not guided in your coui-se by phan- 
toms of a dream : 

Xor blindly wander here and tlun-e. a fol- 
lower of chance : 

But rather tread a beaten path, though slow- 
ly you advance. 

For wisdom seek, and friendship prize above 
the state of wealth ; 

And venture not, for paltry gain, the treasure 
of your health. 

Let manhood be your study, and improve- 
ment be your aim ; 

Inertness may be peace, but I would not re- 
main the same. 

'Tis knowledge sways the minds of men, 
and holds the world in awe: 

All nature is prepared to serve the one, who 
knows her law : 

And who would be a sordid slave, a stupid, 
brutal clod, 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 23 



When, if lie chose, he might approach the 
glory of our God? 

Ambition, it may be a curse, if justice guides 
it not ; 

But honor to the soul that s-trives, and would 
not be forgot ! 

And highest honor be to him, the impulse 
of whose mind 

Is only to succeed, that he maj' bless his fel- 
low kind. 

Then let us all, within our sphere, for better 
prospects try, 

Respecting, helping those we meet, and stif- 
ling ev'ry sigh ; 

So onward, upward, ever gay, in pleasure or 
in pain. 

Our lives shall be a proof that we have lived 
them not in vain; 

Our labor shall be happiness, and, when 
our ej^elids close, 

Contented thoughts shall fill our dreams and 
sweeten our repose; 

And when above our pallid brow, the angel 
Death shall wave 

His sable pinions, we shall not be frighted 
by the grave; 

But calmly looking o'er the race, which we 
below have run, 

Shall hope to hear our Father say, "Well 
done, my son, well done." 

Reward complete of perfect joy, and ever- 
lasting rest, 

Shall be our own, when we shall reach the 
haven of the Blest; 

And well can we afford to scorn our earthly 
load of care. 

Supported by the thought that we shall have 
♦ no burdens there. 



24 EARTA^ POEMS 



Our lamp of life lias l)i-ii>htly huriied to clieer 

our fellow-kiud ; 
Our memory shall linj;er still in ev'ry loviuii 

mind ; 
Thus death shall have for us no stin^-, no 

victory the grave ; 
But all triumphant shall we pass across the 

Jordan's wave. 

Feb. 17, 1891. 



NEW YEAR'S DAY 



Before me lies the spotless leaf, 

Where entry I must make, 
Of good and ill. of joy and grief, 

Of triumph and mistake. 
I fain would hope each page may look 

Some brighter than the past ; 
And that when time shall close the book. 

No blot may dim the last. 

Jan. 1, 1892. 



SWEETHEART 



Sweetheart, I have known you ever, 
Angry words we've spoken never. 
Though w^e parted, my endeavor 

Could not teach my soul to scorn. 
I have struggled to forget you, 
Wished that I had never met you ; 
Still I could not but regret you, 

Could not help but be forlorn. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 25 



1 have wandered, I must own it ; 

If it grieved you, I bemoan it ; 

Had not wronged you liad I known it ; 

But I thought you loved me not. 
Gan your heart, at last relenting, 
Pardon me in truth repenting, 
xVnd for errors past lamenting? 

Sweetheart, let them be forgot. 

Sweetheart, I no longer doubt you ; 
Gare not what I hear about you ; 
I am sad while I'm mthout you ; 

For your love alone I pine. 
Will you now accept this token, 
Trust the'^ words which I have spoken, 
Mend the heart your frown had broken ; 

Will you, darling, now be mine? 

July 30, 1S92. 



DREAMS OF BLISS 



Longing to know the secrets of the night, 

Imagination strives to pierce the gloom ; 
Forsakes slow Reason, plunges from her sight, 

And pictures glorious life beyond the tomb. 
Oft, in my dreams, I've trod the airy deep 

With joy's triumphant steps, from earth 
set free ; 
High o'er the foaming surge and rocky steep 

My willing feet sought out the w^ay to Thee. 
Happy to leave this cold and dreary prison, 

In slumber had my spirit stole away ; 
But, w^hen hope's star above my path had 
risen. 

It faded soon before the daw^n of day. 

Jan. 21, 1895. 



26 WAR POEMS 



WAR POEMS 



WAR IN EUROPE 

O'er Europe's fields, the bugle call 

Is sounding wide and far; 
AVhile rival nations, great and small, 

Assemble for the war. 

AVith wrath the soldiers' l>osoms burn, 
But women weep and wail : 

•"My loved one goes; will he return? 
Will tears or prayers avail*?'' 

Already, on the borderland, 

Is heard the dying groan ; 
AMiile, in the cottage by the strand, 

The widow mourns alone. 

The mother sorrows for the son, 
Whom she shall see no more ; 

His race of life is quickly run, 
He welters in his gore. 

And lovers who, with tender sigh, 

But yesterday did part. 
Have fallen now alone to die, 

And leave a broken heart ! 

Already thousands of the brave 

Have met a bloody fate ; 
Their loved ones weep beside the grave, 

Their homes are desolate. 

And thousands more go madly on 
To meet the self-same doom. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 27 



*"Reven.iie for comrades dead and ^one ! 
We'll join them — in the tomb!" 

The wild beasts roam in search of prey 

Across the desert plain ; 
Bnt Man is fiercer far than they, 

And harder to restrain. 

On land or sea, or in the air, 
There's nothing like the human ; 

While some ungallantly declare 
Man is outdone by woman ! 

The cavemen fou.^ht with clubs and stones, 

In ages long gone by ; 
And gnawed the tlesh from foemen's bones, 

r)r sucked the marrow dry. 

And, later on, with bows and spears, 
With swords and knives and lances : 

They showed the wisdom of their years 
To win proud Beauty's glances. 

War then was sport and maidens smiled 

Upon th^ lucky winner ; 
To slaughter spurred by love l)eguiled. 

Was ev'ry gallant sinner. 

Wild were those days, when pride of 
strength 

Became the ruling passion ; 
And. though some law arrived at length. 

Still fighting is in fashion. 

We slam and jam men to the wall, 

Nor heed the golden rule ; 
If any does, then him we call 

Philanthropist, or fool ! 

Thus, though we truthfully may say 

Some do the Master's will ; 
Yet, in the minds of men today. 

The savage lingers still. 



28 WAR POEMS 



As "('liristian" nations, great and small, 

Rnsli, frenzied, to the tight ; 
Tlie devils all, in satan's hall 

Are dancing with delight. 

Aug. 9, 1914. 



THE CONQUEST OF BELGIUM 

This poem, \Yritten at the beginning of the 
world war, was meant to arouse sympathy 
for outraged Belgium, and contempt for the 
Kaiser's claim that he was forced into the 
conflict. The author has no desire to offend 
any persons of German extraction, who are 
doing their part in the great cause to restore 
the rights of weaker nations, and to main- 
tain our own against military aggression. 

Above the Belgian porticos 

The German banners wave. 
And thousands of the bravest foes 

Lie silent in the grave. 
Those mutilated bodies cry 

To heaven for redress. 
While widows weep and lovers sigh. 

God pity their distress ! 

Defenders of your native land, 

(), have you died in vain ! 
Or shall the bold invader's band 

Be driven back again? 
Shall not the friends of right, allied, 

Force William to restore 
The ground for which those heroes died, 

In trenches wet with gore? 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 29 



The towns in desolation laid, 

x\nd ruined worlvs of art. 
Demand the sympathy and aid 

Of ev'ry Christian heart ; 
x\n unoffending people shorn 

Of fruits of honest toil ; 
Their hard-earned savings from them torn, 

A mighty neighbor's spoil. 

Because the nation would not yield. 

Or let the Germans pass ; 
But sought to make itself a shield 

For friendly France, alas ! 
Down, therefore, with the Belgian king. 

And make his people slaves ; 
Destruction on their cities bring, 

And fill the land with graves ! 

''Compelled to fight !" the bull exclaimed. 

And jumped the pasture fence. 
O. surely he could not l)e blamed 

For such a just pretense I 
Why should he wait to be the prey 

Of nations in alliance? 
No, rather should he start the fray 

And bid them all defiance ! 

Comment :■ — 
Delusive world, where pain and woe, 

Hate, fear, distrust, vexation. 
Are sure to be our lot below. 

The curse of all creation ! 
The coward clings to this sad life. 

However bad it be ; 
But heroes face the fiercest strife. 

Nor dread eternity. 

Oct. 12, 1914. 



30 WAR POEMS 



THE SUBMARINE 

"I am the warships' greatest dread, 
I phin.iie 'neath the angry waves ; 

And safely rest on the ocean bed. 

Where thousands have found their graves. 

''When the foe is near, I can rise to spy. 

And my periscope will show 
Where the vessels float, which are doomed to 
die 

By my unexpected blow. 

"O, the dreadnaught sails o'er the ocean wide, 

And laughs at the stormy sea ; 
It shakes the shells from its armored side ; 

But the dreadnaught mocks not me ! 

''Deadly and foul is the stroke I deal. 

Which the ringside rules abhor : 
But it cools the pride, which our foemen feel. 



In the sinful game of war 



fc>" 



Jan. 22, 1915. 



UNDER THE WAVES 

At rest on the ocean's slimy bed, 

The shattered hulks, with their prisoned dead, 

Sleep in their gloomy graves. 
\(.ne shall gain by their cruel fate, 
Sunk by envy and greed and hate, 

lender the cold sea waves. 

Self-defense is our native right. 

A tyrant rules by the law of might. 

Making the weak his slaves; 
lie seeks by terror to quell his foes, 
But fury fights for the cause of those 

Under the ocean waves. 

May 15, 1915. 



GEORGE W. WOOD WORTH 31 



THE BKEAKUP OF THE ICE 

Along the river's rushing tide 

1 watched tlie ero^Yding ice cakes glide ; 

But many stranded on the side, 

By fierce contention driven ; 
So, down the stream of time, thought 1, 
The struggling hosts of men pass by, 
While some are cast aside to die, 

Though bravely they have striven. 

Awhile, perhaps, in peaceful motion, 
The floes may seek the lake or ocean, 
As men, at times, may show devotion, 

And live their lives aright; 
But, in the river's winding course. 
They press each other with such force 
That warfare seems their last resource. 

And so they madly fight. 

Locked in a death grip now they strive. 
While reinforcements fast arrive. 
And grinding ice cakes seem alive — 

They soon must force a way ; 
The waters rising more and more 
Rush wildly on with dreadful roar, 
Destruction spreads on either shore — 

The river can not stay ! 

How many times, perchance, again, 
The ice cakes, or the sons of men. 
May meet in mortal conflict when 

They crowd within the bend ! 
Thou.gh thousands perish by the way, 
The remnants Qt each frantic fray. 
Crumbling and worn, in sad decay, 

May reach their journey's end. 

Feb. 21, 1915. 



32 WAR POEMS 



BE PREPARED 

When, o'er mad Europe's ruined lields, 
Some conqueror the scepter wiekls, 

His victory complete, 
We may be asked, against our will, 
His empty treasury to fill 

That famished men may eat. 
Be prepared. 
Perchance in near-defenseless state, 
We gather wealth for those who hate 

Our country and its laws. 
Beware how enemies at heart 
May seek with us a fight to start 

However slight the cause. 
Be prepared. 
When, louder than the tempest's roar. 
War's thunders roll from shore to shore ; 

And, underneath the wave. 
The glory of our navy lies ; 
We then may rub our dreamy eyes 

And see our nation's grave. 
Be prepared. 

June 10, 1915. 



THE HOME ARMY 



Have you read of that noble army, which la- 
bors all the day 

That the strong and valiant soldiers may 
gather in proud array ; . 

Steadily toiling and saving, with heartache 
in their breast, 

Those weary people slaving that sturdy men 
may rest? 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 33 



May rest in the grimy trenches, while facing 

a watchful foe. 
Each trying to deal the other a swift and 

deadly blow. 
They sing of their wives or sweethearts with 

voices loud and gay ; 
Hurrah for their country's glory, and fire her 

wealth away ! 

The aged fathers ;ind mothers have given 

their manly sons 
As food for the worms or fishes, as food for 

the foemen's guns. 
They have given their lifelong savings to 

vanish in smoke and air ; 
Destruction and Desolation are grinning at 

their despair. 

Why are the women toiling, with cripples, 

and girls, and boys? 
Is it that men may squander their earnings 

in useless noise? 
Heroes of earth's confusion, wake to the 

trumpet call ; 
Honor the great home army, which carries 

the cost of all ! 

June 20, 1915, 



AIR FIENDS 



Down on the slumbering city fell 

The bolts of death from their dizzy height. 
It seemed that the devils were loosed from 
hell, 
As the flames shot up through the gloomy 
night. 



84 WAR POEMS 



Shattered bodies and scattered limbs ! 

Innocent cliildren torn asunder ! 
Sing, () (Jliristians, your sacred hymns! 

Where is the love of God? We wonder. 

Surely not in the minds of men. 

Who indiscriminate slaughter wreak; 
For savage beasts of the woods or glen 

Will not through malice destroy the weak 

Hunger impels the brutes to kill ; 

Through need, alone, do they seek to slay ; 
But humans, claiming to do God's will, 

Have shamed the world with their deeds 
today. 

Oct. 17, 1915. 



POLAND 

Far away in that land where the war's deso- 
lation 
Has left the poor people to starve or to 
freeze ; 
The groan of the tortured, the wild execra- 
tion, 
Is heard in the forest, is borne on the 
breeze. 

Strong men have been slaughtered, the in- 
fants have perished. 
The crippled and feeble are driven afar ; 
Weak women, bereft of the loved ones they 
cherished. 
Have suffered the worst by the ravage 
of war. 

"Why were we created?" they cry in their 
anguish, 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 85 



"To slave for the rulers, that they may be 

great? 
Like beasts to be driven to death, or to 

laiiKiiish 
In sorrow and pain? O, unbearable fate!" 

The struggle for freedom — our forefathers 
fought it. 
Our country remembers how hard it w^as 
won. 
Dear liberty ! Poland still vainly has sought 
it; 
But found in a desert her "place in the 
sun." 

Sad victim of those who have ruined your 
glory, 
And left you to perish that others may win, 
Humanity weeps at your pitiful story : 

The Good will befriend you, God punish 
war's sin. 

Jan. 11, 1910. 



POLAND REBORN 



Burst are her shameful bonds at last — 

Aroused her hope and trust; 
For those who wronged her in the past 

Are humbled in the dust. 

Though desolated and forlorn. 

Again she shall arise ; 
In freedom's struggle now reborn 

With gladness in her eyes. 

Dismembered, crushed by tyrant's might, 

For many weary years ; 
At length, from out the gloom of night, 

The glorious dawTi appears. 



36 WAR POEMS 



Arise, fair Poland, free and grand! 

Renew thy strength again ; 
For justice shall uphold thy hand 

Among the tribes of men. 

Dee. 5, 1921. 



OUR C OUNTRl'S NEED 

() you, who roam o'er the waters wide. 

Can your eager eyes discover 
A land more worthy her children's pride 

Than the one with our flag above her? 

Brave hearts, oppressed by the tyrant's hand, 

Have found it a refuge ever ; 
When justice, sought on a foreign strand, 

Was sought with a vain endeavor. 

Now shall we be dreaming, when murder and 
shame 

Are hovering close in our border ; 
While enemies jeer at Columbia's name, 

And dare us to call them to order? 

Awake to the danger, arouse and prepare, 
While time and our riches avail us ! 

There lives not a nation, cvhich ever would 
dare, 
Were we READY, in war to assail us. 

The "Cradle of Liberty" still shall be 

The obje(*t of true devotion ; 
Kept, by the arms of the Brave and Free 

Safe, 'mid the world's commotion. 

FeU 14, 1916, 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 37 



SYMPATHY 

Fervently praj'ing or sighing, 
Dreaming of tjiose o'er tlie sea, 

Many of whom may be dying, 
Do you condemn it in me? 

There are the friends of mj' childliood, 

Now to maturity grown ; 
There, in tlie shade of the wild wood, 

Often we lingered alone. 

Though from my kindred and lover 
Far have I wandered away, 

Vainly I sought to discover 

Friends that are truer than they. 

Mingling in war's wild Confusion, 

Gallantly striving to win. 
Victims of some one's delusion. 

Who is to blame for the sin? 

Sellishness, pride and ambition, 
Seeking for power and fame, 

Brought on the world this condition, 
Poverty, ruin and shame. 

Desolate, sad, but unyielding, 
Now is the land of my birth ; 

Still are her faithful sons wielding 
Weapons for rulers of earth. 

Weep for the slaughtered and wounded, 
Weep for all victims of greed ; 

Pray that the wicked, confounded, 
Get what is justly their meed. 

Feb. 27, 1916. 



38 WAR POEMS 



THE BANDIT'S PLEA 

(Inscribed to Villa) 
When first beyond the green Azores, 

('olnmbns" footsteps trod; 
The natives welcomed to their shores 

The white man as a god. 

Alas, poor fools ! they conld not know- 
That they would be his slaves; 

Thnt mnsket-sliot and sabre-blow 
Would fill their land with graves ! 

To Mexico the Spaniard came; 

He seized the Aztec chief ; 
He scourged the land with sword and fiame, 

AVith crimes beyond belief. 

There, stretched upon a bed of coals, 

Brave Montezuma lay ; 
His spirit, to the home of souls. 

Went proudly on its way. 

He scorned to tell his cruel foe 

Of kingly treasure hid. 
What should a righteous God bestow 

For sins which Cortez did? 

And then Pizarro, in Peru, 

The Inca's riches sought; 
He drained the realm of gold, and slew^ 

All, who against him fought. 

By skill, by treachery and force 

He won the Inca's land ; 
Removed each menace to his course. 

And ruled with iron hand. 

Dark were the deed's Pizarro wrought,. 

ITntil Armado's steel, 
At last with venomed fury, taught 

That tyrant heart to feel. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 39 



Rape, ruiii, robbeiT and slaves 
Came where the white men trod ; 

They strewed the land with native graves, 
All ill the name of God ! 

And was it the Almighty's grace 

Which aided, then, their plans 
To .subjugate a noble race, 

The true Americans? 

Four hundred years in bondage held, 
But frequent broils have shown 

The Aztec spirit still unquelled ; 
And time shall yet atone ! 

Again the peons shall be free — 

Avenge those deeds of shame, 
< )n foes of civil liberty. 

Who bear the Spaniard's name. 

Xo more their avarice shall drain 

My country of its life ; 
Unless, upon the battle plain, 

W"e perish in the strife. 

Outlaw and patriot am 1 ; 

And history shall show 
How bravely heroes can defy 

A despicable foe. 

Turn back the pages, and disclose 

The truth of 5' our belief; 
Good David, as the record shows, 

Was once a bandit chief. 

Condemn us not for bloody deeds, 
Which yours have far out-classed. 

Talk not to us of Christian creeds; 
We judge but by the past! 

March 14, 1918. 



40 WAR POEMS 



BANDIT HUNTING 

Over the mesa\s wild expanse, 

Our galloping gringoes go ; 
On polislied weapons the sunbeams clanee, 
And greasers flee from our swift advance, 

For our deadly aim they know^ ! 

We chased them far from the borderland, 
Though the natives frowned in wrath ; 

Whenever the bandits dared to stand. 

They were beaten back by our gallant l)and 
Till they feared to cross our path. 

For years the robbers had held their sw^a^^ — 

They thought that we dared not fight ; 
They lived by rapine, their hearts were gay, 
For the hand of Vengeance seemed far away, 
And they dreaded not its might. 

Souls indignant were moved at last 

By the bandit's deeds of sin ; 
The days of their lawless rule are past — 
On their heated trail we are pressing fast. 

And the cause of right shall win. 

June 15, 1916. 



SUBMARINING 



The Germans with their U-Boats sail 

Around the British shore; 
They love to pinch the lion's tail 

And hear his angry roar ; 
They dream not that the trick may fail — 

Then they must pay the score. 

Jan. 1, 1917. 



GEORGE W. WOODAVORTH 41 

THE DESTROYER 

Proud, perjured ruler of a mighty race, 
Your deeds have lilled the earth with woe 
and pain. 
Time's healing hand can never quite elface 
The marks which your ambition made in 

vain. 
Millions of victims in your battles slain, • 
And mutilated remnants still on earth, 

AVidows and orphans, what has been their 
gain? 
The world shall curse the hour which gave 

you birth. 

Hushed are the sounds of melody and mirth, 

For sorrow, cold and hunger, all endure. 

What is there left in life that can allure 

When, loved ones gone, we suffer here alone? 

"And is your soul unmoved by tear or groan?" 

*'And dare you wage this ruthless warfare 
still. 
Destroy the noble works which men have 
reared? 
Must nations bow to your imperious will? 
Are you, then, more than heaven to be 

feared?' 
Has there no vision to your mind appeared 
Or those who, like yourself, have fought for 
fame? 
With utter selfishness your eyes are 
bleared. 
"What did they win besides a hated name? 
Their power faded, yours must do the same." 
With sneaking submarine and Zeppelin 
You waste and slaughter, but you cannot 
win. 
Blind bigot, for this ruin who must pay, 
AYhen your exalted hopes have passed away? 

Feb. 6, 1917. 



42 WAR POEMS 



TO THE RED CROSS NURSES 

Our hearts unite in your noble plan, 

Whatever our race or creed ; 
For the love of God is the love of Man 

Expressed by a kindly deed. 

Tho' nations war for their selfish ends, 

And savagely strive to gain, 
You Red Cross Nurses are alway friends 

To victims of woe and pain. 

Angels of mercy, you watch and pray, 

rntarnishcd by deeds of sin; 
You chase the gloom from the world away ; 

O why do they bring it in? 

May 25, 1917. 



TERRORISM 



\Vhere can the peaceful mind repose, 

In this enlightened age ; 
When cruel and designing foes 

Such ruthless warfare wage? 

Down from the long untroubled sky 
The bolts of death are hurled 

As when the Titans did defy 
The ruler of the world. 

Then Jove, in anger, slew the great. 

For questioning his might ; 
The flaming lightnings showed the bate 

And fury of that fight. 

Destruction rages ev'ry where, 

In warfare of today ; 
On earth or ocean, and in air, 

He holds relentless sway. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 43 



Fierce, indiscriminate and wild, 

He hurls his darts around; 
For man or \yoman, maid or cliild, 

No safety can be found. 

(Jreat God, shall means like these prevail, 

And win a hero's fame? 
Shall Freedom's children blanch and <iuail 

At deeds of deathless shame? 

March 31, 1917 



OUR BOYS IN FRANCE 

Over the wave our children brave 

Have gone at humanity's call ; 
Heady to give, that right may live, 

Ready to give their all. 

In Ea Belle France, where the foe's advance 

Had blighted the joys of life ; 
They turned their guns on the cruel Huns, 

And joined in the awi:'ul strife; 

Land (jf the West, your gallant breast 

Has nourished a race of men, 
Whose eager feet will scorn retreat. 

And dash to the fray again. 

Rod by rod, o'er the bloody sod. 

The invader's host recedes ; 
While the shell-torn earth attests the worth 

Of desperate valor's deeds. 

By the trenches deep sliall widows weep, 

Or mothers kneel to pray. 
For the distant ones, whose dauntless sons 

Have helped to save the day. 

' Sept. 6, 1917. 



44 WAR POEMS 



THE PROGRESSIVE INSTINCT 

There dwells within the mind of man 
A spark of pure celestial fire, 

Which, since his race of life began, 
Has lit the w^ay to something higher. 

In the dark ages of the past, 

Contending with wild beasts of prey, 
His savagery was unsurpassed — 

Yes, he was fiercer far than they. 

But, as his gloomy soul would sigh, 
Dissatisfied with life like this, 

He dreamed of a sw^eet by and by, 
Of peace and joy, or endless bliss. 

So in his restless, fevered mind, 

He sought a way to break the fetter, 

Which bound him to the brutal kind — 
In fact he longed for something better. 

Inventions gradually came. 

As the result of cogitation. 
Which brought to some undying fame. 

And roused the craze for domination. 

The lower animals subdued. 

Progressive mortals fought each other ; 
With selfishness and hate imbued. 

Enslaved or sacrificed their brother. 

Great nations rose, which favored art, 
Or other things their rulers prized. 

Exalting idols of their heart, 
And making subjects civilized. 

O, you, wiio w^ould your "Kultur" spread, 
You have ignored God's holy plan ; 

And, by the lust for conquest led. 
Impaired the brotherhood of man ! 

Dec. 31, 1917 



GEORGE ^X. WOODWORTH 45 



01 R VOLLNTEERS 

Responding- to the country's call, 
They freely offered her their all 
And sought beyond Atlantic's \Yave 
A victor's wreath or hero's grave. 
No thoughts of luxury and ease 
Possessed the minds of such as these ; 
But. like the errant knights of old. 
They scorned the lure of sordid gold 
And strove in battles hard and long 
To right oppression's cruel wrong — 
Their recompense an honored name. 
Inscribed upon the scroll ur fame. 
And consciousness that their release 
Would give them everlasting peace. 
They dreaded not the toil and danger. 
For fear was to their soul a stranger, 
And, in the fury of the fight. 
Their war-cry was ''For truth and right !" 
Let poets sing in future years 
The praises of our volunteers. 

Sept. 28, 191S. 



THE ABSENT 



Little woman, are you lonely? 

Do you worry night and day. 
Doubting, praying, thinking only 

Of your dear one far away? 

Ah ! those trembling tear-drops stealin: 
Down your pallid cheeks declare 

Flow the woe which you are feeling 
Drives you almost to despair. 

Waiting, watching, longing, sighing, 
For a word that does not come ; 



46 WAR POEMS 



Till your wearied hopes are (lying, 
And your lips are cold and dumb ! 

Can you not. in God believing, 
Trust to Him your absent one; 
And, whate'er your cause for grieving, 
Humbly say "Thy will be done?" 

Jan. 26, 1919. 



THANKSGIVING DAY PRAYER 

O Thou who o'er a wicked world 

Hast kept a watchful eye. 

While mortals death and ruin hurled 

From land and sea and sky ; 
We thank Thee that the right has won, 

Supported by Thy grace, 
And all the nations "in the sun" 

May safely hnd a place. 

The proud blasphemer boasts no more 

That God has been his friend; 
His dream of conquest now^ is o'er, 

His power at an end. 
Out of the ruin he has wro.ught 

Shall Glory rise again, 
And fellowship, which Thou has taught, 

Tnite the hearts of men. 

The world has suffered much of wrong, 

( )f angony and pain ; 
But now the weaker shall be strong — 

They have not fought in vain. 
O help us, Lord, w^hile we rejoice, 

The erring to forgive ; 
And, since at last they hear Thy voice, 
As brothers let us live. 

Nov. 24, 1918. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 47 



MEMORIAL POEMS 



GRANDFATHER GRAIBEARD 

Now he has gone, the aged and the bent ! 
No more his feet shall tread this "vale of 
tears/' 
Earth claims again the dust she long has lent, 
And God calls home the spirit worn with 
years. 

No more that eye shall watch the children 
play, 
That ear no longer listen to their mirth ; 
That kindly voice drive grief no more away, 
That hand no longer smooth the cares of 
earth. 

How w^ere they pleased his aged knee to 
climb, 

And listen to the tales he loved to tell ! 
Tales of the by-gone years^ the olden time, 

On w^hich the children's fancy joys to dwell. 

And they will miss him now and wonder 
why 

His kindly face no more is present here ; 
As yet they know not what it is to die, 

Nor dream that death forever lingers near. 



48 MEMORIAL POEMS 



And older ones will miss a much-loved friend, 

By time, or kindred ties so long endeared ; 

But know they all must meet that common 

end — 

lie has hut reached the haven we have 

n eared. 

On life's rough sea his hark has long been 

•tossed ; 

But now in safety gains the destined shore ; 

The goal is won — the ocean has been crossed, 

And time's rude waves shall toss that bark 

no more. 

Wlien death, the tyrant, comes to seize his 
prey, 
And waves his sable pinions o'er the land, 
We grieve to see our loved ones snatched 
away, 
And in our eyes the glist'ning tear-drops 
stand. 

How^ brief the span of human life extends ! 

How swiftly sinks our sun adown the west ! 
Yet w^e should grieve alone at leaving friends. 

For death shall give us wiiat we long for 
—rest. 

Rest from the cares that ever crowd our way. 
As fortune leads us blindly there or here ; 

For, since our infant eyes first saw the day, 
Our lives are spent in mingled hope and 
fear. 

One hope there is should banish ev'ry care, 
Should dry the tears and bid the sighing 
cease ; 
It lifts the drooping mind from vile despair. 
And points to heaven, the abode of peace. 

Nov. 28, 1884. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 49 



RELNION 

Though death for a season may sever the 
ties, 
\Yhich join friends and lovers togetlier, 
while liere ; 
The spirit within us shall quicken and rise, 
A.2:ain to unite with the ones we hold dear. 

Nov. 28, 1884. 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTEE 

Friends of my youth, of school-boy's happy 
days, 

My brow with sad regret is overcast ; 
I mourn for Schneider as my fancy strays 

Among the faded land-marks of the past. 

Dimly I see him rising to my view. 

With whiskers dark, or sandy — I forget; 

A lengthy figure, and a heart as true 
To his fixed course as any I have met. 

Grave was his aspect, yet his soul was kind ; 

He loved the good and therefore petted me ; 
For I was of a studious turn of mind — 

I beg to be excused for flattery. 

Do you remember how he opened school? 
He seemed to understand the way first- 
rately, 
Assorting us, the wise one from the fool, 
And laying down the law^s — they pleased 
me greatly. 

We should not whisper, write or look to 

others. 
But give in school our tasks our whole 

attentioils ; 
And chew no gum, or cakes made by our 

mothers ; 



50 MEMORIAL POEMS 



For all these widened not the brain's di- 
mensions. 

Thus self-reliance, industry, control, 

He pointed to as gifts of lofty birth, 
Which trained the body and enlarged the 
soul, 
And were the gauge of manhood and of 
worth. 

O, what a man he was to speak and write I 
How well he understood the rule of three ! 

And he could read 'most anything at sight, 
Or change long useless rules to formulae. 

The maxim which he most upheld in teaching 
Was, "to do well whatever he did do." 

Of this we hear so many fellows preaching, 
But those who practice are but precious 
few. 

I loved him then but many did not like him ; 
I don't know why, unless they were un~ 
grateful. 
John S — L said that he would like to strike 
him : 
And Mrs. Chambers thought he w^as *'de- 
sateful." 

Well, well ! we all must have our own opin- 
ions. 

On any subject human or divine ; 
x\nd each is monarch of his own dominions, 

And so t'will me until the end of time. 

He ran his course, and did some good — I 
know it. 
While he sojourned in Grafton's tliriving 
town ; 
And as for blame, let other folks bestow it ; 
I write his praise, though they may run 
him down. 

Nov. 21, 1885. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 51 



FATHER 

Stern winter holds ns in his grasp — 

We feel his icy breath ; 
But one has felt a colder clasp. 

That of the Angel Death. 

Aronnd the pale unconscious clay. 

Our sobs of anguish break : 
We mourn a father passe<l away. 

Who lived but for our sake 

A life of toil for us he spent : 

His labors now are o'er : 
His eyes are closed in calm content 

To open nevermore. 

*'Peace to his soul!" we ever sa>. 

And sound his virtues high. 
Oh thus for us may others pray. 

When we shall come to die ! 

Jan. 6, 189:1 



THE PATRIOT'S DEATH 

Snatched from our midst by Death's relent- 
less hand, 
When fame a garland for his brow was 
weaving 
Fit to adorn the noblest of our land, 

All loyal hearts must now unite in griev- 
ing; 
*'Yet vain is grief unless it shall awaken 

Within our minds a zeal to dare and do ; 
Like him in honor's cause to stand unshaken, 
True to ourselves and to our country true." 

Oct. 22, 1917. 



?2 MEMORIAL POEMS 



To Ecl.—by request— 

My friend, once my rival, but never my foe, 
The fetter is l)roken, which held you below. 
Escaped from life's prison, where, sunk in 
decay, 

The hopes fondly cherished had withered 
away 

In the prime of your manhood, and recently 

wed 
To the girl of your choice, shall I mourn for 

you Ed? 
Love's dream you beheld. Shall I question 

its truth? 
Was it what you supposed in the days of 

your youth, 
Long- years ere fulfilled, when your wavering- 
mind 
Was hopefuj or fearful? Ah, Love, thou art 

blind ! 
Like the faithless chimera love's picture 

deceives us ; 
We follow, through anguish the phantom, 

which leaves us ; 
Exhausted at last on life's desert we sink; 
But find not the fountain from which we 

would drink ! 
Farewell then to hope, and farewell then to 

fear ; 

When life is a burden, death claims not a 
tear. 

Sept. 7, 1892. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 53 



Ml FATHER AND Ml MOTHER 

I'm here on the old plantation, alone at the 
close of day ; 

Yet two, who have long been absent, have 
come to me now to sta5\ 

My aged father and mother are with me 
again at last. 

But the voices are silent forever that cheered 
my heart in the past. 

They had told me the path of virtue, had 
spoken of hope and love, 

Of angels, which lead our footsteps to the 
heaven of rest above. 

They taught me to shun temptation, to con- 
stantly watch and pray, 

But their counsel has been neglected, and 
oft have I gone astray. 

Wayward, and wild, and willful, I broke 
from their tender care, 

In my boyhood's reckless folly, and I wan- 
dered here and there. 

I learned in the world's hard college the les= 
son which time must show, 

That only in love and friendship true happi- 
ness lies below. 

O, had I but valued them justly, had I sought 
them with earnest care. 

How oft had my soul been rescued from the 
burden it grieved to bear ! 

Misjudged, neglected, forsaken, by many 
whose friendship I sought, 

The love of those who were truest, I valued 
it not as I ought. 

They told me, my father and mother, and 
wept o'er my wandering years ; 

And now, as the past comes before me, I 
moisten their grave with my tears. 

April 13, 1893. 



54 MEMORIAL POEMS 



LITTLE GRACIE 

Down to the river, dark and wide, 

AVe watched onr darling- pass. 
We saw her launch on the chilling tide. 

Vainly we called alas I 

Over that river w^e all must go 

Into the dread unknown. 
She has left behind her the care and woe. 

Gone as a bird has flown. 

Away from the sorrowful vale of tears, 

Away from the toil and strife. 
Which others must l>ear through the weary 
years. 

From !)irth to the end of life. 
Faith tells of a region of pure delight. 

On a })eautiful strand afar; 
And points through the shadows of death's 
dark night. 

To the heavenly gates ajar. 

Then wliy should the tear-drops fall for one. 

Who passes from pain to rest? 
We hope, when our labor of life is done. 

To meet in the home of the blessed. 

Feb. 15, 1906, 



IN MExMOKY OF GEORGE W, PECKHAM 

Farewell to the friend, whom I alw^ays re- 
spected 
For virtues which rarely seem present in 
one ; 
Truth, dignity, kindness and strength were 
collected 
In George W. Peckham, whose life w^ork is 
done. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 55 



The thouvsaiids of scholars who elaiiiied him 
as teacher 
Will miss ail example well worthy of heed ; 
Impartial and earnest, a friend to each crea- 
ture ; 
He strove to be useful in word and in deed. 

In life's many battles he recked not of danger, 
But fought with a purpose unflinching in 
view. 
And grief . in misfortune to him was a 
stranger — 
He quietly rallied to dare and to do. 

Broad-minded and gallant, these mottoes 
he gave us : 
To "live and let live" and to ''work for 
some end ;" 
Not trusting to piety, solely, to save us, 
But being to fellow^men comrade and friend. 

iX w^ealth and position ! AVhat are j^ou be- 
stowing 
To comfort the mind in the darkness of 
night ? 
But peacefulness, joyfulness have w^e when 
knowing 
That ever our purpose has been to do right. 

Jan. 13, 1914. 



TRIBUTE TO OLD SETTLER 

In memory of John O'Leary, old settler 
of Ozaukee county. Wis. 
He has gone from our presence, whose peace- 
ful existence 
Betokened a heart that was tender and 
true. 



5L.,_______MEMCmijLl^P0EMS 



A miiicl which endeavored with patient per- 
sistence 

To bear with the trials which life brought 
to view. 

Enfeebled, for years, and bereft of the 

pleasure. 
Which hearing and vigor to others supply 
Tlie friendships of early days still could lie 

treasure. 

And memory lingered on scenes long gone 
by. 

Yes, oft o'er those fond vanished years would 

he ponder. 
While yet in death's borderland seemed he 

to roam ; 
At last, as his weary mind ceased in its 

wander. 

His voice murmured softly, "'I want to go 
home." 

And the hand which, in maiden love, smooth- 
ed with caresses. 
The wrinkles of care from his manlv voung 
brow. 

The same hand is holding his— still fondly 
presses, 

While her heart's burning passion laments 
for him now. 

At home! Free at last from the world's dull 
dominions, 

The long-fettered spirit has found its re- 
lease ; 

Away from life's burdens on swift-flying 
pinions. 
It soars to the regions of heavenly peace. 

May 29, 1914. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 67 



THE EMANCIPATOR 

Exalted in the minds of those 
Who honor God's commands ; 

His fame unsullied by his foes, 
Our Lincoln proudly stands. 

Though lowly born and rustic bred, 
From humble backwoods life, 

He rose to be our nation's head 
When enmity was rife. 

Our Henry Clay was then no more. 

None lived who could control 
The minds of men who rnadlj' swore 

The negro had no soul. 

The thunders from the cannon's mouth 
Awoke the North from dreaming ; 

While foemen hurried from the South 
W^ith weapons fiercely gleaming. 

AVe know how gloomy were those years, 
When countless hearts were aching, 

And countless eyes were dimmed with 
tears 
Before the dawn was breaking ! 

With love for all our hero still 
Stood dauntless through the fight. 

Whate'er his faults, his steadfast will 
Was ever to do right. 

Now o'er a fair and happy land 

The Union banner waves ; 
It covers still a nation grand. 

But not a race of slaves. 

Feb. 7, 1915. 



58 MEMORIAL POEMS 



NATURE'S TRIBUTE 

When, from its worn tenement parting in 
gladness, 
The world-weary spirit has taken its flight ; 
The brows of the watchers are clouded with 
sadness, 
And fast-flowing tears are bedimming the 
sight. 

Though reason and faith may unite in de- 
claring 
That joy for the righteous aw^aits at the 
end ; 
Yet nature demands from the hearts now de- 
spairing, 
These tokens of grief at the loss of a 
friend. 

Have we wronged the departed? Ah, then 
our lamenting 
Is bitter indeed as we vainly implore ! 
Too late the petition ! Too late the repenting ! 
The w^ords of forgiveness can reach us no 
more. 

May 6, 1915. 



TRIBUTE TO TEDDY 

Sturdy and brave was the man who has 
left us, 
Wise and far-seeing the mind he possessed. 
Great is our loss, for his passing bereft us 
Of counsel and power which ranked with 
the best. 
Friend to the suffering, foe to aggression, 

Purely American, honest and true. 
Firmly opposed to all forms of oppression, 
Theodore Roosevelt, we're mourning for 
you. 

Jan. 9, J.ai9. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 59 



COMRADE OF OLD 



Friend of my childhood's days, together we 
Roamed thron.uli our native woods hmg 
years ago ; 
Or shouted huidly in our boyish glee. 

While swimming, skating, tumbling in the 
snow. 

How free from eare, how reckless was our 
mirth. 

As down the hill we speeded like the wind ! 
When, later on, we wandered o'er the earth. 

We sought to leave our sorrows far behind. 

The spirit of adventure we possessed : 

The rough world daunted not our hopeful 
hearts ; 
For courage high beat in each manly breast ; 
We feared not in life's play to act our 
parts. 

We were not strong in body, but the soul 
Refused to .yield to weariness or pain ; 

Still pressed we forward to our cherished 
goal ; 
And time declared the struggle not in vain. 

We made our way against fate's cruel odds, 
And won at least some laurels in the fight ; 

The credit was not ours alone, but God's, 
Who guided us through darkness into light. 

Safe in the harbor of eternal peace 

Your bark has anchored now, its voyage 
o'er ; 
My spirit only waits the glad release. 

Which soon shall join true friends for- 
evermore. 

July 15, 1915. 



60 MEMORIAL POP]MS 



Ml ERRING FRIEND 

I cast a flower in the grave, 

Of one misfortinie snatched away ; 

Nor e'en a tortured moment gave, 
Wherein to grieve, wherein to pray. 

They called him heartless, w^ayward, wild, 
Apostate from the Christian's creed ; 

But I, who knew him from a child, 
Aver he was no slave to greed. 

Free-hearted as the knights of old, 
No sordid passion ruled his breast. 

Quick to discern, in action bold, 
lie was a friend to the distressed. 

^A^hoe'er has known the blighting grief, 
Which unrequited love bestows, 

On those who vainly seek relief. 
Can sympathize with others' woes. 

God is our judge. I seek to cheer 
The lonely heart, the tortured mind ; 

For ev'ry struggling soul is dear 
To him w^ho loves his fellow kind. 

Oct. 17, 1915. 



MEMORIAL DAY 



Hang out the flag, for wiiich our fathers 

fought ; 

Perchance their spirits watch it where it 

waves ! 

And may our children heed the lesson taught. 

While decorating our brave soldiers' graves. 

Courage, which dared to face the cannon's 
mouth ; 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 61 



Which met, iinblanched, the gleaming bayo- 
net ; 
And kept us still united, North and South ; 
Such courage we must honor, not forget. 

Freedom and justice all true men desire ; 

For these they [Struggled on the gory field ; 
Their noble deeds should patriot hearts in- 
spire 

Our sacred rights to keep, and never yield. 

Rest, then, our guardsmen, who for duty 
died ; 
Life is at best a transitory flame ; 
But those who gave it are their country's 
pride. 
Scatter the garlands, tell each hero's fame. 

May 31, 1916. 



IN MEMORIAM 



Mustered out from the ranks of life, 

A veteran soldier goes, 
Who held his ground through the din and 
strife, 

Which every mortal knows ; 
And, more than most, when a rebel host 

Our country's flag assailed ; 
He did his part with a willing heart, 

"Till the Union arms prevailed. 

On the bloody field, with a rapid tread, 

'Mid the screaming shot and shell. 
His youthful feet in duty sped, 

Through the smoke and flames of hell ; 
And, often, since, in our village street, 

His comrades by his side, 
He bore the banner in summer's heat 

With a soldier's manly stride. 



(^2 MEMORIAL POEMS 



Honor the dead who did their part 

Onr nation's life to save ; 
We tliink of them with a grateful heart 

When we see "Old Glory" wave, 
For loyal hearts and willing hands 

Are needed much today ; 
And the young must answer the stern de- 
mands. 

Since the old have passed away. 

June 10, 1917. 



OUR HEROES 



Another year has passed away ; 

Again we greet Memorial day, 
And realize more truly now 

The depth of grief which parents feel 
When, with a careworn, wrinkled brow. 

Beside their soldier's grave they kneel ; 
For we, ere long perchance, may know 
x\n equal weight of cruel woe. 

Across Atlantic's stormy wave, 

Our own and other's rights to save, 
Sons, brothers, lovers now are sailing. 

The choicest of our youth we gave. 
And some have found an ocean grave, 

The sneaking submarine prevailing. 
Indignant manhood heaves a groan, 

But vows that vengeance shall atone. 



'&' 



Grief for the brave that are no more 

Shall answer with the cannon's roar 
The ruthless foes, who think that might, 

And deeds of horror can destroj^ 
The zeal of those, who for the right 

Abandon homes of peace and joy. 
Remember we our sacred trust. 

While honoring the soldiers' dust. 

May 26, 1918. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 63 



THE NEGLECTED GRAVE 

She sleeps in a country graveyard with never 

a word to show 
That sweetheart, or wife, or mother has 

crumbled to dust below. 
She came from a distant city to answer her 

lover's call ; 
For her doting maiden fancy imagined him 

best of all. 
And he was kind and loving as ever a wife 

could wish, 
Lively, and good, and cheerful, an excellent 

sort of fish ; 
So the years rolled by with pleasure, though 

probably touched by care ; 
For children can drive their parents quite 

frequently to despair ; 
And worrying over troubles will thin and 

whiten the hair. 

Alas for the dreams of girlhood, or dreams 

of her later years ! 
They vanished away like the sunshine w^hen 

clouded by grief and tears. 
I wish not to lengthen the story, but hasten 

it to the end ; 
She died, and her darling husband was 

wedded to her best friend. 
The children scattered or married and thus 

she was left alone. 
The spot ungraced by a marker of even 

the cheapest stone. 
So much for a life's devotion ! So much for 

the love of men ! 
She pictured him fond and faithful hut 

would she trust him as then, 
If back to the old conditions her spirit 

could come again? 

May 7, 1919. 



64 MEMORIAL POEMS 



AT REST 

When on the placid features of the dead 
I gaze with mournful heart, but stifled 
sigh, 
Thinking, the while, of all the toil and dread 
Which she has known in weary years sjone 
by; 
Would 1 recall her spirit? No. not I! 
Sweet rest is now the merited reward 
Of one. who fervently has served the Lord. 

This is the truth I verily believe, 

Since God is just and merciful as well. 
Not for the righteous should we ever grieve, 

If in eternal happiness they dwell ; 
And He may spare the erring — who can tell? 
Those who have sought the narrow way to 
find, 
Though stumbling oft, their vision being 
blind. 

Bar not the gates of heaven to the soul 

That reckons ev'ry fellow creature dear ; 
And strives with earnest faith to reach the 
goal 
By patiently performing duties here. 
Gorgeous for him life's sunset may appear. 

Lighting his crossing to the golden strand, 
Just on the border of the Promised Land. 

Oct. 21, 1918. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 65 



HUMOROUS POEMS 



THE GOOD DIE YOUNG 

stranger, when passing by this marble pile. 
Pause, and bestow a tributary tear 

For one whose Iwsom knew not hate or guile, 
Whose soul was mild, yet felt iio craven 
fear. 

Fair were his eyes as the ethereal blue, 

xVnd smooth his cheeks as newly-frozen ice ; 
-As yet no >^;^skers o'er his features threw 
That kindly shade which often shelters 
vice, 
lie needed not a mask, as many do, 
To hide the looks they can not well re- 
strain ; 
His heart was pure, his friendship tried and 
true ; 
Nor word nor deed could give another pain, 

How^ seldom do w^e chance on earth to meet 
One like to him whose bones here slumber- 
ing lie ! 
A faithful friend is fellowship too sweet 

To last — 'the brightest soonest die. 
Aiid yet the death of one such lovely flow'r. 
Although it throws a shadow o'er each 
heart, 
May stay harsh words or deeds in passion's 
hour 
By teaching us that dearest friends must 
part. 
And Wisdom's voice shall ever tell us this: 

"As he forebore to give another pain, 
So do ye all, and win, too, endless bliss. 
Thus shall his life, his death, prove not 
in vain." 

Sept. 1, 1884. 



66 HUMOROUS POEMS 



THE SLEIGHRIDE 

When Destiny, with black and dreadful 

frown. 
Some warrior hero in his course cuts down ; 
When he who drenched the earth with human 

gore. 
Himself shall sink, to conquer nevermore, 
Then sounds the harp with melancholy lays, 
Poetic lines immortalize his days ; 
But when a gallant youth, of naught afraid. 
Strives for that grandest prize, a charming 

maid. 
When, in the pride of beauty's early bloom. 
She seems his own — then bursts the awful 

doom — 
How few would think a baffled lover's curses 
Would e'er seek refuge in poetic verses ! 
Yet such is truth, a loving friend I had, 
Who, in the vulgar phrase, had ''got it bad.'' 
He fondly pressed, and Fortune seemed to 

smile ; 
In fact, she smiled, but only for awhile. 
Upon a fresh and lovely winter's night. 
When Luna lit the sky with silv'ry light, 
My friend essayed to take a jolly ride. 
And, with his fair one seated by his side. 
Drove forth with swelling breast and beam- 
ing eye, 
And heart unburdened by the faintest sigh. 
Life seemed all joyous for the smiling pair. 
With merry voices rent the bracing air. 
Packed in the gorgeous robe, whose ample 

fold 
Defied the searching wind or winter's cold. 
Snugly they sat, at times their voices ming- 
ling 
In merry cadence with the sleighbells jing- 
ling. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 67 



The courser pranced, and tossed his shapely 

head. 
And whisked his tail as swiftly on he sped. 
<^. h)vely sight ! the envy of each Fair, 
Who, as they passed, was tempted lonj? to 

stare. 
And wish that she snch "transport," too, 

might share. 
Bnt pleasure 't^ hours are all too swiftly past. 
And scenes like this too heautiful to last. 
Perhaps, with happiness too much elate. 
The driver guarded not against his fate ; 
Perchance he leaned too much in that direc- 
tion. 
Lured hy the charms which almost reached 

perfection ; 
Or, mayhap, some unevenness of roaa 
Destroyed the balance of that precious load ; 
Or, as the ground the willing courser spurned. 
Perchance too suddenly aside he turned. 
But useless 'tis thus idly to surmise 
The cause of what I saw with fancy's eyes. 
The end was this — my hero's overthrow, 
And with him fell his darling — in the snow. 
Wrenched from the arm impulsively extended. 
He lost his prize, and here my tale is ended. 
Hero and heroine o'erthrown I leave. 
To laugh or faint, to anger or to grieve. 

Dec. 30, 1884. 



THE DOG FIGHT 



There is a friend as dear to me 

As almost any other ; 
And I had called one night to see 

This maiden's little brother. 
Beside a board wath dishes crowned, 

Where all had just been eating, 



GS IITTMOROITS POEMS 



]\Iy fair yonii^ friend this night I fonnd 

His evening- meal eonipleting. 
Xo sonnd there was, no spoken word 

To mar his calm delight; 
Bnt snddenly a gTowl was heard. 

The dogK began to fight. 
It seemed as though the lad would choke. 

Disturbed in act delightful, 
As brawling cnrs the silence broke. 

With yel])s most truly fightful. 
In peaceful mood the dogs had lain. 

Beneath the loaded table; 
And what had g'one against their grain 

To state I am not able. 
The beastly nature well I know. 

Like others, can't l>e trusted. 
They fought, the supper-board below ; 

The biggest lamp was ''busted." 
With writhing forms, and grappled jaws„ 

The angry curs contended : 
And scratched each other with their claws. 

While justice hung suspended. 
The dishes might have all been wrecked. 

In less than half a minute 
Had valor not the ccmtest checked. 

Ere either brute could win it. 
I'ndaunted maid! she springs to save, 

(So dear her little brother) ; 
l)ogs" tails in fearful aspects wave. 

There is ONE way — no other. 
Each grasps a tail, and braces back, 

To drag the curs asunder ; 
Though strength they surelv do not lack 

They CANNOT— for a wonder. 
It seemed an age that thus they held. 

Their comic situation. 
But blinded rage at last was quelled, 

I saw with admiration. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 69 



Perhaps a soothing influence passed, 

Along each spinal eolnmn : 
8nch gentle hands a spell can cast 

To make e'en brntes feel solemn. 
Yes, tans full oft. when words or blows 

Would add to the disaster. 
As freuent rei>etition shows 

A kindlv touch can master. 

Jan. 31. 188G. 



THE PETITION 



B. . . ^. ., you know the charming maid, 

Who keeps the. .. .school? 
I've angered her I am afraid — 

Plague take me for a fool ! 
A fairer, fresher blooming girl 

Is very seldom seen ; 
And thus to put her in a surl 

I truly did not mean. 
Now, if I humbly bow the knee, 

Will she her rage forego ; 
And in her mercy pardon me? 

My conscience tells me, "No !" 
In vain for me it is to shed 

The penitential tear ; 
The storm has gathered o'er my head, 

And it miLst break I fear. 
Yes, now her soul is stirred to wrath. 

The lightning of her eye 
Will strike me, if I cross her path. 

And 1 shall surely die. 
O, if some friend of mine will speak, 

Ere it shall be too late; 
And quell the rage she longs to w^reak, 

The prayer may save my pate! 



70 HUMOROUS POEMS 



B yon always were my friend ; 

I know your heart is kind ; 
And, if your aid you now will lend. 

It will relieve my nrind. 
My brain is paralyzed with fear ;' 

Remorseful billows roll ; 
O, save me ! save me ! B dear 

And may God bless vo\ir soul. 

Det^. 5. 188T 



THE PROSPECTIVE LAWYER 

Young. ... .ha s^ a legal touch. 

His father told me so '^ 
He told me that there was not much 

That youngster did not know. 

I'm sure that he will prosper well, 
His head with law^ is crammed ; 

He'll plead the devil out of h . . . . 1-,. 
And have good Enoch damned. 

His father's pride, his mother's joy,. 

Lord grant he may succeed. 
My blessing on the likely boy, 

He has my heart indeed! 

His cheek is full, his wit is bright, 

His tongue will never tire. 
No wonder he's his pa's delight. 

He'll make a noted I .... r. 

Oct. 5, 1888. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 71 

TWO PUBLISHERS 

The editor upon his chair 

In pensive posture sits^ 
And rubs his furrowed brow of care 

To liven up his wits. 

He sends around the truthful news, 

And eagerly we read. 
He gives us noted people's views. 

He's useful — yes indeed. 

The gossip rambles up and down — 
With hurried steps he goes ; 

And sacks the country and the town 
Before his feet repose. 

Then, if he does not know a thing. 

His brain supplies the odds. 
He makes his little welkin ring 

With tales which shock the Gods. 

The. editor must have his pay — 
On earth abides his treasure; 
The gossip tells what people say, 
And does it for the pleasure. 

Now choose, my friends, between the two- 
Nor let your minds be vexed. 

Reward is sure for what you do — 
In this world or the next. 

Feb. 6, 1889, 



THE CHILD OF NATURE 

( Inscribed to Walter Briggs, who in the 
spring of 1S91 built a lodge in Loomer's 
Woods, three miles south of this city, having 
toeen evacuated from the old toll-gate, which 
lie had facetiously called "Louse-House Num- 
ber Nine.") 



Z? HUMOROUS POEMS 



1 wandered today tliroiigli the forest wide, 
AVhen the moon-tide snn was shining; 

And. the (liihl of Xature I there espied. 
On the hosoni of earth reelining. 

A briar pipe in the month was stuck, 
AVith the smolve above him wreathing; 

And he lodged as pleasant as any dnck, 
As he eahnly there lay breathing. 

A shelter of leaves and sticks he had, 
In the form of a shed constructed; 

And his comrade true was a German aid, 
By the Gypsy life seducted. 

The Child of Nature reposed in peace, 
With the boy he had befriended; 

And they fed on cakes, which were fried in 
grease. 
While a chorus of frogs attended. 

Like a picture of fairyland it seemed, 
And I wondered if I were sleeping ; 

Though the mid-day sun in his glory "beamed. 
His rays through the thicket creeping. 

O would that I, like that happy pair, 
Were free from the burden of sorrow; 

And could tranciuilly snooze in the open air. 
Nor dream of the cares of tomo'rrow ! 

April 19, ISOl. 



THE COW WITH THE IRON TAIL 

(With apologies to all honest farmers.) 
Let us sing it, brothers, to the tune on 
which the old cow died, kev of B flat. 



There's a nice little cow upon every farm ; 
She needs no feed and she does no harm ; 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 73 

When others go dry she will still avail, 
And joyfully fill the can or pail. 

Never a thing- on earth could live 
Without the fluid this cow does give. 
It is found in food and whatever we drink ; 
In fact, in any old thing, I think. 

People may color it up a bit, 
By mixing other things with it, 
Such as coffee, ot milk, or tea ; 
Pure water is good enough for me. 

So hurrah for the cow with the iron tail ! 
When others go dry, she will still avail ; 
And what we need she will always give. 
That suffering mortals still may live. 

.tan. 10, 1906. 



THE FESTIVE FROG 

Since first the poet tuned his lyre, 

And trained his voice to sing, 
The theme quite often to inspire 

Was spring, sweet, gentle spring. 
The balmy air, the wild bird's note, 

The tlow'rs w^hich gaily bloom, 
xVppealed to him whene'er he smote 

The strings to banish gloom. 
He seldom had a word to say 

Anent the cackling hen, 
But raved about the lark and jay, 

The robin, thrush and wren. 
The mocking bird and catbird sang 

Their varied notes of praise ; 



74 HUMOROUS POEMS 



The blackbird's chatter wildly rang, 

Or bluebird's plaintive lays. 
The killdeer's cry, from far and near, 

The startled silence broke ; 
In fact, the things of which you hear 

The poet's love awoke. 
And so he sang with all his pow'rs 

To celebrate those creatures ; 
The charming birds, the fragrant flow'rs, 

Were ever present features. 
But he forgot the humble frogs, 

Which chirp the livelong day, 
iSequestered in the slimy bogs, 

Yet gayest of the gay. 
The daylight hours do not suffice 

To tell their wild delight; 
And so their votive accents rise 

Throughout each balmj^ night. 
Listen to that merry chorus, 

Lively now as a piano ; 
Then again a hush steals o'er us. 

Hear the basso and soprano ! 
Voices rise in accents various. 

Much melodious ellort showing ; 
Some seem solemn, some hilarious. 

Sweeter all than roosters' crowing. 
Raptured eyes, if you could spy them ! 

Frames which vibrate with emotion ! 
Can we still our praise deny them? 

Where else find we such devotion? 
Long neglected by the poet, 

Sneered at in your slimy bog, 
I will praise you, don't you know it, 

Humble, happy, festive frog? 

April 17, 1914. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 75 



THE JITNEY BUS 

When jitneys first began to run. 

The people gazed in wonder : 
They thought no blooming' 

Could make them pay, by thunder J 
Yet day by day the number grows — 

It surely beats creation ; 
And street ear magnates blow their nose^ 

And snort in sheer vexation : 
'•We clear the tracks when blizzards blow. 

To keep the cars a-moving ; 
And haul a million tons of snow. 

Our lore for people proving : 
'•And now they take the jitney bus. 

In such a deuced hurry, 
it seems they do not care a cuss, 

But think that 'we should worry/ " 

Ajpril 4, 1915. 



A CANOE TRIP LP THE RIVER 

On the Milwaukee river our day we spent, 

And the summer sun sank low ; 
We had eaten to our heart's content, 

Of the fish we caught, you know. 
We had paddled along, in our light canoe, 

For a dozen miles that day ; 
Or had waded the shallows and pushed it 
through, 

In the good old Indian way. 
O, our skins were red as a lobster boiled, 

For our bathing suits we wore ; 
I tell you, boys, we had bravely toiled, 

And we felt a trifle sore. 
We had stretched ourselves for a peaceful 
sleep, 



76 HUMOROUS POEMS 



When a cow began to bawl ; 
Aiul a little lamb to its mother sheep, 

With a plaintive voice did call. 
AVe had camped near a lonely ba.you's side. 

Where the marsh i^rass swarmed with 
frogs ; 
And the tierce mosqnitos, in their pride, 

Sang their war-cry in tlie bogs. 
As the night came o'er ns the chorus rose, 

And onr bosoms swelled with wrath ; 
(), we conld have coped with a thousand foes. 

If they then had crossed our path ! 
Is there anght more sweet than a night in 
June, 

When the insects all get gay ; 
And they raise their voice in a merry tune, 

As they gather around their preyV 
Then we struck to the left, and we struck to 
the right. 

And v»^e struck at them all around : 
(), I feel quite sure that in that fierce fight. 

We had valiantly held our groimd ; 
But a wild young bull came up just then. 

And tore through our canvas tent ; 
So we took to our light canoe again, 

And we hastily up and went. 
We have drifted back to our dear old home 

To the city's tranquil breast ; 
And uo more shall our eager footsteps roam 

To the country for a rest. 

June 3, 1914. 



BRYAN, THE PACIFICATOR 

Were I an orator, like Bill, 
With winning smile, but stubborn will, 
I'd tell the old old story. 



GEORGE ^X. WOODWOIiTH 77 



If William's race of life were run, 
I'd bet at least sixteen to one 

That lie had j^one to j;lorj^ ; 
And, on that bri^'ht celestial shore. 
He'd likely watch and wait some more 

For comrades left below — 
Poor sinners, who would rather fight 
Than give away each sacred right 

And Iviss a tyrant's toe ! 



n^ 



Who cares for Patrick Henry's gi'it ! 
He mingled fury with his wit, 

And set the land aflame; 
But, was the purpose of his mind 
To benefit his fellow kind 

And banish deeds of shame? 
Ah no ! 'twas hatred spurred his tongue, 
And seldom has his praise been sung 

By men of honest name ; 
But Bryan shall, with Henry Clay, 
Xo doubt be coupled up some day 

Within the halls of fame. 

June 10, 1915. 



ST. PATRICK 



Here's praise for his rivirince, howly St. Pat* 
Who showed the ould divvil jist where he 
was at, 

Wise St. Pathrick ! 
Among the woild hay thin, whin only a kid, 
He. preached the pure gospil of love, so he did, 

Brave St. Pathrick ! 

Fierce kings of Hibernia bowled to his will; 
He taught thim 'twas betther to save than to 
kill, 

Good St, Pathrick ! 



78 HUMOROUS POEMS 



The varmints assinibled to hear him one day- 
He orthered thim all for a shwim in the say. 
Did St. Pathriek. 

Belave me or not, but the toads and th(» 

shnakes 
Uan't be found in the fields, or the bo^s, or 

the brakes 

Since St. Pathrick. 

He humbled the pride of the father of sin, 
And Oi'm hopin' that hivvin may sind us agin 
The loikes of St. Pathrick. 

Dec. 14, 1915. 



THE REVIVAL 

1 hab jes come from de meetin', 
Where I had a hearty greetin', 
A reception really heatin' 

From de breddren an' de sistahs ob my 
own especial creed. 
While deni gospel bells were ringin', 
Sinnah's to de altah clingin', 
Were a-prayin', shoutin', singin', 

O, we had a very precious, joyful, lubbly 
time indeed ! 

Gib me 'ligeon dat's expressive, 
When my feelin's get excessive, 

An' am rumblin' an' a-tumblin' in de con- 
fines ob dis breast. 
When my soul am full ob glory, 
Let me tell de ol', oP, story- 
How de Sabior seeks to rescue eb'ryone 
dat am oppressed. 

Nebba min' dat honeyed preachin', 
Xebba min' de bigot's teachin' 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 79 



Dat de only road to hebben am de one 
HE'S pointin' out : 
Fob de essence ob salvation 
Am— DE LUB FOR ALL CREATION ; 

An' de people dat possess it dey hab got 
de right to shout. 

Dec. 15, 1915. 

In relating his experience at a colored 
Methodist revival, the author's purpose is 
not to ridicule religion ; but to emphasize his 
belief that the essential part of any saving 
doctrine is the love of humanity. Possessing 
that you are on the road to glorj^ ; while 
those, who harbor a feeling of enmity, or a 
Pharisaical contempt for others, derive little 
benefit from church-going or oft-repeated 
prayers. There is frequently a wide differ- 
ence between piety and Christianity. ''If a 
man hath not the spirit of Christ he is none 
of His.'— G. W. AV. 



BLARNEY 



^Vhat is it that we like to hear. 
Which helps our gloomy spells to cheer, 
Although it may not be sincere? 

Blarney. 
When you were but a little child. 
AVhat was it that your heart beguiled. 
That won your favor so you smiled? 

'Twas blarney. 
When youngsters cut up like the deuce. 
And scolding is not any use, 
There's something, which excels abuse— 

That's blarney. 



80 HUMOROUS POEMS 



Observe, when trouble is in siglit, 

How honeyed words will set things right, 

And save the sorrow^ of a fight. 

Try blarney. 
Love sways the minds of young and old. 
The tale is not too often told 
That kindness wins more friends than gold. 

I'Se blarney. 
When Beauty's eyes on you were smiling, 
With witchery your heart beguiling, 
The words you spoke were not reviling. 

But blarney. 
<), love is sweet beyond compare ; 
And truth's a treasure rich and rare ; 
You think 3'ou have them both — beware 

Of blarney ! 
Remember, as you join your hands. 
In matrimony's holy bands, 
That nothing else life's joy expands 

Like blarney. 
When, jolting o'er the rugged road, 
We feel as though we must explode, 
What is it lightens up our load? 

It's blarnej^ 
Aiid then, in business, you may sell 
iSome goods to those you flatter well, 
AVho meant to let you go to ! 

Try blarney. 
So, if you wish to live in peace, 
And slide along as smooth as grease, 
Until you get your last release, 

Use blarney. 
But just remember this, by heck ! 
Full manj^ fortunes go to wreck — 
Yes, thousands get it in the neck 

Through blarney. 

June 7, 1910. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 81 



USING THE ACCELERATOR 

'^It looks like rain," the farmer said 

"Let's hustle in this hay." 
The hired man just shook his head, 

And ..answered : "Don't get gay." 

'*It looked like rain the whole blamed week^ 

We worked, to beat the deuce; 
T think it's time that I should speak, 

And tell you it's no use. 

^' Those curly clouds which you perceive 

Are not a sign of rain. 
Your scheme for hustling makes me grieve — 

In fact, it gives me pain. 

Such talk, old man, is like hot air — 
It suits this time of year, 
But doesn't get you anywhere ; 
AVhy don't you try some beer? 

^AVhere'er I go, I hear that cry: 

'The rain, I think, will come !' 
I'm rushed until I want to die ; 

No wonder I'm a bum." 

Juiy 25, 1916. 



THE COPPER'S TALE 

I am the village copper now, 
. Don't let that be forgot ; 
For always, when there is a row, 
I'm ''Johnny on the spot." 

But sometimes, underneath a tree, 

I rest within the shade; 
And children come and talk to me — 

They're not a bit afraid. 



82 IirMOROUS POEMS 



I like the youngsters' lively ways — 
They fill my heart with joy ; 

And 1 recall the happy clays 
When but a barefoot boy. 

One husky lad stood by my side, 

Beneath that maple tree; 
It seemed as though he would eon fide 

Some awful woe to me. 

"Sit down, my tired boy," said I ; 

*'This bench you, too, may share." 
*'I thank you, cop," he made reply ; 

"But I am sore right there." 

"Aha, my little man," I cried, 
"So you have tried to skate !" 

"O. no, kind friend," the child denied, 
*'Mine was a -sadder fate," 

**If father whipped you like a cur, 

He certainly shall rue it !" 
"My mother gave the order, sir. 

The old man had to do it." 

My boy, my boy, it can' not be! 

A mother's heart is tender ; 
But. if she caused such misery. 

The saints shall not defend her ! 

In ages dark the men would fight. 

And. I'm ashamed to tell. 
Creation's lords assumed the right 

To beat their mates as well. 

Who dares it now? None, on their lives! 

The women here are free ; 
And children should, as much as wives, 

Be guarded, seems to me. 

Then cast the brutal rod aside, 
And find some other way 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 83 



The youngster's erring course to guide — 
That law will come some day. 

(>, parents with the vision blind, 
Though meaning well no doubt. 

You foster hatred in the mind. 
And crush the manhood out ! 

Aug. 25, 1916. 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 

George Washington, that hero grand, 

Was thoughtless as could be ; 
He took his little hatchet, and 

He chopped a cherry tree ; 
But he was honest as the day, 

For, when his father hailed him, 
He told the truth, or else, they say 
The old man would have *'whaled" him. 

George grew to be a noble man, 

Became both wise and careful. 
He lived as only Honor can, 

Was merciful and prayerful. 
He fought the British, scorned their rage, 

And crowned himself with glory. 
They tell the youth of ev'ry age 

That little hatchet story. 

Jan. 9, 1917. 



S4 HUMOROUS POEMg 

THE PARTY LINE 

O. listen to that joyful sound ! 

The telephone is ringing ; 
The latest news from miles around 

To us it now is bringing. 

No more in isolated woe 

The lonely folks are groaning ; 

There is not much that they don't know 
Thanks to their telephoning. 

Before the instrument they stand, , 
Their useful views comparing ; 

While anxious friends thruout the land 
Are grinning, frowning, swearing. 

We tell our sorrows and our joys. 

And frequently get funny, 
When talking-^ to the girls or boys. 

In accents sweet as honey. 

"O, are you going to the play?" 
•'And were you at the party?" 

*■'! cannot hear a word you say !" 
"Now hold your horses, smarty !"* 

vSome jabber often, jabber long, 

Of unimportant matter ; 
Impatient patrons think this wrong. 

And mutter, "Can the chatter!" 

What tho' the cakes and biscuits burn,. 

Or meat fries to a frizzle? 
Whenever there is news to learn, 

They make the wires just sizzle. 

A social chat is very fine ; 

And yet I sometimes question. 
If talking on a party line 

Is good for the digestion. 

Jan. 16, 1917. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 85 



THE PEACEFUL OBSTRL€TIOMST 

lie sits in the senate chamber, a glowering, 

eerie elf. 
Who, fearing contamination, prefers to flock 
by himself. 
''These people, with few exceptions, are 

tools of the trusts," said he. 
''They seek to embroil our country with 
nations across the sea. 

**()f army or navy measures we have not the 

slightest need ; 
And all of this agitation is simply the work 
of greed. 
Those slaves to the lust for money would 

wantonly maim and kill. 
There are only a few to save us, excepting 
myself and Bill. 

"But we are a host, and we fear not, but 

stick to our purpose true. 
We can talk 'till the knaves are dizzy, and 
wondering what to do. 
A war of w^ords in the senate, but peace on 

the stormy deep, 
B'or our ships shall stay in the harbor — I'm 
putting the boys to sleep. 

*'Let the wicked slay and plunder, or trample 

upon our rights, 
Our conscience will still commend us for 
shunning such awful fights. 
The armor of truth shall save us, from 

enemies over the sea. 
I am going to manage this business to suit 
my own self, believe me!" 

March 8, 1917. 



S6 HUMOROUS POEMS 



THE PACIFIST 

"O, tell me father, if you know. 

What is a pacifist? 
Is he a person who dares show 

No spirit to resist? 
If some disturber rose to say : 

'Sir, you are my inferior !' 
Would this war-hater run away. 

Or offer his posterior?" 

"Not so, my son ! That peaceful chap 

Is often a fierce fighter ; 
He'd rather give than take a slap. 

Like any blooming Blighter. 
Some chirp and wander up and down. 

Like lost and lonely chickens ; 
But pacifists, who win renown. 

Are sure to raise the dickens." 

July 11. 19ir 



UNCLE'S FRIEND 



() listen now, fellows, and you shall hear 
The tale of a man who was drinking some 

beer. 
He stood at the bar in a parlor of thirst, 
Devouring some pretzels, some cheese and 

some wurst ; 
But once in a while he would earnestly sa\ : 
"Hurrah for our country, the good U. S. A. 
1 was born in a land, which lies over the sea ; 
But I swear that this one is best suited to me. 
I was poor and despised in the place of my 

birth. 
Where the nobles, so-called, were possessing' 

tlie earth ; 
But here I have wealth, and my vote can 

command 



GEORGE W, WOODWORTH 87 



As much as the vote of the best in the land. 
We are equal and free, and we all should 

endeavor 
To keep for our children this freedom forever. 
The friend of all peoples, America mine, 
Your foes will do well to stay over the brine, 
T'm a brother to all. who are honest and true. 
I love the dear flag with the red, white and 

blue, 
\\'ill you join with me boys, to protect Uncle 

Sam? 
Hurrah for our best friend ! I don't give 

a ] 

I am loyal, clear downi to my toes, so I am." 

Oct. 29, 1917. 



THE WOODEN \\^DDING 

I am constrained to write a song. 

About the wooden wedding. 
To which the neighbors, forty strong. 

The other night were heading. 
Just loaded dow^n with cakes and pies, 

With sausage, bread and cheeses, 
They took the trenches by surprise — 

Swept in like autumn breezes. 

Not with the awful din of strife 

The fortress' walls were ringing; 
They welcomed all, you bet your life, 

With shouts of mirth, and singing. 
Of Louis' hospitality 

No one could be complaining, 
For surely none could ever be 

More kind and entertaining. 
With games at cards, with music grand, 

With feasting, drinking, dancing. 
The hours flew by to beat the band ; 

And morning was advancing, 



88 HUMOROUS POEMS 



When Louis and his lovely dame, 

Tho' wearied bj' their labors, 
Performed a break-down just the same, 

In wooden shoes, be jabers I 

O, we had such a jolly time. 

So excellently hearty. 
I'm just compelled to put in rhyme 

The story of that party ! 
I'm brimming full of love for all. 

My homeward pathway treading; 
And truly now, I can't recall 

A better wooden wedding. 

Oct. 31, 1917 



THE VOLLNTEEK AGRICULTLKIST 

(Inspired by the city boys' move to the farms 
to help win the war.) 



"I want to be a farmer, and proudly would 
I stand, 
A hoe upon my shoulder, a pitchfork in iny 
hand ; 
Yes, with that gallant army I'm going now 
to fight ; 
To feed the whole creation I'll try with all 
my might. 

VPerhaps a cow may kick me, or smite we 
with her tail ; 
But I will brave all dangers to fill the 
milking pail. 
O, when the country calls me, I will not be 
a shirk ! 
I seek not rest or pleasure, but what 1 
want is work." 

May 24, 1918. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 89 

A PEACE CHANT 

Long injured and insulted by the Kaiser and 

liis minions, 
Our great American eagle in anger spread 

his pinions : 
And. soaring o'er the ocean to the sunny land 

of France, 
He swooped upon those boasters, and he 

grabbed them by the ; 

He took them and he shook them — he gave 

them a surprise: 
Struck terror to their bosoms, and delighted 

the allies ; 
For soon the tide of battle turned; now vic- 
tory is won. 
And all the world should thank the Lord for 

what our boys have done. 

Nov. 11, 1918. 



REWARDED FOR SERVICE 

In a front-line trench on a busy day, 

An Irishhman stood at duty ; 
He stooped, at least so the papers say, 

To capture a rampant cootie. 

Over his head a German shell 
.lust then went whizzing through. 

**Bedad !" said Pat. "I'd have been in 

If it had not been for you. 

"I meant to kill you, I doavow, 

As surely as I'm a sinner ; 
But I have not the heart to do it now ; 

Go back and finish your dinner." 

Jan. 14, 1919. 



90 HUMOROUS POEMS 



THE FRACTIOUS COW 

Base quadruped, 1 gave thee provender, 
And stroked thee fondly with a gentle hand; 
Then took my seat beside thee on a stool 
While murmuring in accents tender "So" ! 
I did commence, and likewise, fiend, didst 

thou. 
Forward and backward, and from side to 

side. 
Ungrateful beast, thou movedst frequently ; 
Then, with a sudden kick, o'er thre west me, 
The battered pail upsetting in my face. 
I felt indignant, but my better self 
Conquered the evil and I harmed thee not ; 
I tied thee, though, so that thou couldst noi 

kick, 
Or move as freely as thou didst before, 
Then strove again to squeeze thy udder dry ; 
But thou thy pent-up wrath couldst not re- 
strain. 
And showed thy spleen in sundry hateful 

ways. 
Oft didst thou smite me with thy ropy tail 
Upon my cheek, and sometimes in my eye. 
And yet I spared thee, thought my spirit 

longed 
For swift revenge upon thee, vicious brute ! 
Thon knowest not, thou dumb, deluded cow. 
That I may sell thee to some sinful man, 
Who will belabor thee with many blows ; 
Or I can make thee into sausage meat 
And chew thee, piece by piece for this offense. 
Thou dost deserve it and thy doom is sealed. 
I will no longer trust thee. Thou shalt go. 

Jan. 27, 1919. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 91 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



THE LITTLE MOUSE 

A little mouse lived in our house 

And ran around at night ; 
We set a trap to catch the chap. 

And niousie took a bite. 

He squealed in pain, but all in vain 

He strove to get away ; 
He lost his breath and choked to death 

Before the dawn of day. 

While struggling there in deep despair. 
This mousie might have thought : 

*'Ah. woe is me ! too late I see 
The lesson mamma taught." 

May 7, 1909. 



REMEMBRANCES 

Par back o'er the wearisome stretch of years 

My memory strays as I muse alone. 
How many are gone from this ''vale of 
tears !" 
How many of those that my youth has 
known ! 

And some are distant who once were near, 
And joined mth me in my childish plays. 

The pleasures then to our hearts so dear 
Seem foolish indeed in these later days. 

Amid the jostle, and din, and strife, 

We struggle on in the world's hard way ; 



92 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



With seldom a thoiigbt of the peaceful life 
We led ill the years which have gone for 
aye. 

Farewell to the dreams of the days gone by I 
Adieu to the friends who were with us 

then ! 
We must not falter, nor droop, nor sigh ; 

But act our part in the deeds of men. 

Vet sometimes into the mind may stray 
A kindly thought for a friend afar ; 

A gleam of sunshine to cheer his way, 
A night illumed by a brilliant star. 

Dec. 10, 1911. 



CUPID'S DEFIANCE 



O, you who kneel at Cupid's shrine, 

Farewell and go your way ! 
Xo longer serve a God divine. 

But worshiij one of clay ! 
For men, exalted for a day. 

Would rend love's cords asunder, 
And break my once resistless sway, 

While angels weep and w^onder ! 

Great Jove forsook the higher life, 

With mortal loves to dwell ; 
And Orpheus, to claim his wife, 

Defied the flames of hell. 
O'er gods and men, and creatures all, 

I hold eternal rule ; 
And sooner shall the heavens fall 

Than that some mortal fool 
May curb the pow'r which I can wield, 

And bind me as a slave. 
My darts can pierce the toughest shield 

That even wisdom gave. 

Jan. 8, 1914. 



GEOKGE W. WOODWORTH 9^ 



THE AEKOPLANIST 

High o'er the pi-ostrate world the birdmaii 
flies. 
The wonder of all creatures that behold. 
Swifter than wind he dashes through the 
skie«, 
Beyond the clouds, unmindful of the cold. 

Death strikes no terror to that dauntleK>4 
soul. 

Which finds in danger but a wild delight. 
Thrilling the nerves with joy beyond control. 

So warriors feel the rapture of the fight. 

Now. circling wide, in spiral course descend- 
ing'. 
He soars, like eagle, with careening' wings ', 
Then, with his life on one slim chance de- 
pending. 
Inverted speeds. Can eagles do such things? 

(), no \ the -native monarch of the ail* 

Must yield to us the rule of his dominion^. 
Man's restless intellect would not despair, 
Though ages lapsed before he spread \\\^ 
pinions. 

March 29, 1914. 



THE WIDOW'S SON 



Far away o'er the mountains his footsteps 
are straying, 
While she in her loneliness, lingers at home. 
Her youngest and dearest, for him she is 
praying 
That God may protect him, where'er he 
may roam. 



94 MTSCELLANEOIJS POEMkS 



He knows not the anguish his mother is 
feeling. 
She cared for him fondly since first he 
drew breath. • 
With fears for him now her dazed senses are 
reeling. 
Will he turn from his w^anderings, save 
her from death? 

Alas for the pleading ! Alas for the mother ! 
The erring one listened not, came not 
again ; 
He follow^ed a phantom — the love of an- 
other — 
The story is old as the story of men. 

Deluded, forsaken, he sought in carousing, 
A respite from passion W'hich tortured his 
mind ; 

But seldom, if ever, he thought of espousing 
The love of the truest one feeble and blind. 

She knew^ not his sinfulness — mothers be 
lieve not 
The tales of disparagement which they 
may hear ; 
The mind of the trustful wrong deeds can 
perceive not ; 
It will not condemn, though the proof may 
be clear. 

Too late he will learn, or in ignorance perish ; 
But you, who are wise, *may perhaps think 
of \hm : 
The love of your mother seek fondly to 
cherish, 
For he who neglects her deserves not true 
bliss. 

July 3, 1914. 



GEORGE W. WOODAtORTH 95 



THE UNIVERSE 

\Mien gaziiiK on the starry lield 

With wonder and delight, 
I long for knowledge unrevealed 

To our encumbered sight. 

Beyond the feeble gaze of Man, 

Or telescope view. 
Far reaches God's eternal plan, 

Wide rolls the endless blue. 

I doubt not that each central sun 

Has planets like our own ; 
Why should such stars their courses run 

For our small earth alone? 

Illimitable space may hold 

A million worlds or more 
Some blazing hot. some icy cold, 

And others peopled o'er. 

There Youth and Maidenhood may sigh, 
When love their mind entrances ; 

Transfixed by Beauty's .beaming eye 
Or Virtue's modest glances. 

And there, alas ! may creatures fight 

For power or for greed. 
Sunk, like ourselves, in darkest night. 

Estranged by caste or creed. 

God of the Universe, to thee 

I lift my humble prayer. 
Anoint men's eyes that they may see 

Their folly and repair. 

Sept. 6, 1914. 



96 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



SCOLDERS 

O, creatures with the voice unkind. 

Who wildly storm and madly rave, 
You rouse a demon in the mind, 

Which else would be love's willing slave. 

Could you but speak with gentle tone, 
Or show a touch of fond emotion ; 

One, faithful heart would be your own, 
And gladly yield a life's devotion. . 

Nov. 17, 1914. 



ALLIES IN LIFE S BATTLE 

When 3'outh and beauty join their hands, 

In token of alliance ; 
They vow to tread time's shifting sands, 

And bid the world defiance. 

*'To love, to cherish and protect," 

The manly voice will swear ; 
*'To love, to cherish, and respect," 

Responds the lady fair. 

8o. on the threshold of their life, 

The couple proudly stands. 
O, may that husband and that wife 

Remember God's commands ! 

The bloom on beauty's cheek may stay, 

If love shall foJidly cherish ; 
And golden years may pass away 

Before that bloom shall perish. 

But. dark the aspect of the sky, 

Above that lonely pair ; 
When fades the love-light from each eye ! 

Then come the lines of care. 

March 30, 1915. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 97 



LIFE 

'•What is life?" said the weary slave, 
As he toiled in the stifling heat; 

**For me awaits but a narrow grave, 
And now but a crust to eat." 

* What is life?" groaned the millionaire^ 
As he worried about his wealth ; 

His brow was wrinkled with lines of care^ 
He felt not the J03' of health. 

*'Love is life," said the maiden fair, 
When the mutual vows were plighted ; 

She knew not the depths of the heart's de- 
spair, 
AVhen the first fond hopes are blighted. 

'"Life is a dream," the weakling sighed. 
•'Life is a play," the actor said. 
Life is a battle," the victor cried; 
••I have fought my way over heaps of 
dead." 

Snug, in his humble cottage home, 

A fisherman told his wife: 
"•Darling, I never would wish to roam^ 

For this is what I call life." 

Out on the hreast of the raging sea. 

Safe from domestic strife, 
A sailor shouted in fearless glee, 

••My hearties, but this is life." 

Watching the country road one day. 

I saw the autos go dashing by ; 
Youth and beauty, the brave and gay, 

••This is life," was their merry cry. 

•Soaring aloft in the azure deep, 

The birdman laughed, in his reckless 
mirth : 
^'This is life; we have been asleep, 

But now are lords of the air and earth." 



98 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



"Deluded friends," the zealot said, 
"Why is it that you can not see 

That soon earth's joys and ills are sped, 
And you must face eternity? 

"True life awaits the good above, 

Where God's resplendent glory gleams ; 

Where spirits dwell in peace and love, 
Which mortals find but in their dreams." 

Nov. 13, 1915. 



TRY 

There's a w^ealth of inspiration 

In that little English word ; 
Ev'ry tribe and ev'ry nation 

Has. perhaps, the sermon heard ; 
For the prophets and the sages. 

Of whatever race or clime, 
Have been shouting it for ages, 

Some in prose and some in rhyme. 

Dreaming, waiting, grumbling never 

Won the hero's lofty name; 
But his resolute endeavor 

Led him on to deathless fame ; 
Yet the human mind keeps turning, 

In forbidden paths to stray ; 
Still for idle pleasures yearning, 

With the thoughtless and the gay. 

Little children, heed the teaching. 

Others need the lesson, too. 
Let the prophets keep on preaching, 

Urging us to dare and do. 
In this game of life we're playing. 

Foolish 'tis to halt or sigh. 
What's the use of all our praying. 

If we don't get up and try? 

Nov. 13, 1915. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 99 



CHRISTMAS 

We praise the Prince of Peace todaj% 
While children's shouting, loud and gay. 

Resounds throughout the land : 
In hymns of love our voices blend, 
And presents passed from friend to friend, 

Fulfill the Lord's command. 

How gorgeous are the trees tonight ! 
The little ones, in wild delight, 

Are dancing 'round them now; 
The joy of life is in their eyes ; 
They view the gifts with glad surprise 

Reflected from each brow. 

Oh, could the spirit of this day 
Be unconfined ; and, far away 

Spread o'er the grand old earth ! 
Then would the tribes of men unite 
In fellowship of truth and right, 

And bless the Savior's birth. 

Dec. 2, 1915. 



THE PATRIOT'S GRIEF 

Where the waves of the ocean, in restless 
commotion, 
Are dashing, and splashing the rockgirdled 
shore, 
I gaze on their madness, my spirit, in sad- 
ness. 
Is lulled by their tumult, their deafening 
roar. 
O, wild were the dreams which my fancy 
had cherished, 
As wild as the waves that are dashing 
below ! 



100 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Mj^ hopes, like those billows, are shattered 
and perished, 
And all that is left me is ruin and woe! 
HIS CONSOLATION 
'Tis hope which guides our fragile bark o'er 
ev'ry stormy wave, 
And still inspires the soul to be enduring, 
strong and brave ; 
Beyond the veil, if not before, shall freedom's 
banner gleam, 
And so adieu to what is now the phantom 
of a dream. 

Jan. 17, 1916 



THE SOUL SET FREE 

Above the cold world's toil and care. 
My spirit wanders free as air, 
Yet often lingers near this spot, 
For loved ones can not be forgot. 
Perhaps some tears for me were shed, 
When I was numbered jvith the dead— 
'Tis nature's tribute to bestow 
Sad looks and words on those who go ; 
But why was faith to mortals given, 
If not to cheer when death has riven 
From wearied limbs the loathsome fetter. 
Which keeps the soul from something 

better'? 
I loved my friends, I scorned earth's strife, 
I did my best to brighten life, 
Yet sometimes o'er my senses stealing 
Would come a wave of mournful feeling, 
Which reason vainly strove to quell — 
What e'er its cause I could not tell, 
The lights were dim, I failed to see 
Why grief should have such hold on me. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 101 



Now freedom's joy is mine to Iviiow ; 
I bid farewell to worldly woe, 
And, like the wild birds, soar and sing ; 
Yet niem'ry. even now, may bring- 
Some sadness to this soul of mine. 
Because of those who still repine — 
The friends of earth that I have known. 
Who o'er life's desert wander on alone." 

Feb. 6, 1916. 



THE FRIEND IN NEED 

The friend we always like to meet 
Is he whose cheering accents greet 
When, bending with our load of care, 
The })urden seems too great to bear. 
His words of courage give our hearts. 
Fresh vigor to perform our parts ; 
His gladsome smile, and helping hand 
Inspire our trembling limbs to stand. 
When we have tried to do our best. 
Despite the envy of the rest, 
Whose galling gibes, our ears assailing. 
Declare our efforts unavailing. 
Sweet is the voice, whose accents tell 
Our weary souls that we do well. 

May 12, 191(3. 



THE MERRY SPRINGTIME 

When in the gladsome days of spring, 

I hear the roosters crow; 
My gloomy thoughts, like bats take wing, 

And vanish, don't you know? 



102 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Hurrah for Spring, bright, merry Spring! 

She heeds dame Nature's call ; 
While flowers bloom and wild-birds sing. 

She comes to cheer us all. 

Forth, from the winter's dull retreat, 

She steps in maiden pride ; 
With winning smile and accents sweet, 

She casts her veil aside. 

O, charming Spring, we welcome you, 

In gorgeous beauty dressed! 
Forever shall your joy renew 

The hope within each breast. 

May 14, 1916. 



THE BRIGHT SIDE 



There are thorns with the roses, 
And the way may be lonely; 

But the brave heart discloses 
Life's sunny side only. 

June 2, 1916. 



HOMESICK 



Out in the weary world, wandering lonely, 
Far from the home that my infancy knew, 

Comes to my mental eye one picture only — 
Friend to me always, I'm thinking of you. 

Yours was the voice that encouraged me 
ever; 
Yours the dear hand which could smooth 
ev'ry care ; 



GEORGE W. WOQDWORTH 103 

Tender and pleading, you scolded me never; 

Pressed to your heart, I forgot my despair. 
Mother, dear mother, for you I am yearning ! 

O, were you still in that far away home, 
Back to your loving arms would I be turning; 

Never again would I leave you to roam ! 

June 30, 1916. 



A VISION 



I saw a youth and maiden fair 

Dazed by each other's charms ; 
Their browB were free from lines of care; 
Their merry voices rent the air ; 

They feared not life's alarms. 

I looked again — the scene had changed-— 

It showed a man and wife ; 
But hearts once fond were now estranged, 
And far apart the couple ranged — 

They met in gloom and strife. 

Love is a fickle, faithless god, 

Who blinds the eyes awhile ; 
Who makes the dreamy senses nod, 
'Till time bestows the cruel rod 

And drives away the smile! 

Alas for those, who on death's brink 

With halting footsteps stray; 
When sorrow's bitter cup they drink. 
And love's decaying embers sink 

In ashes cold and grey! 

Aug. 11, 1916. 



104 xMISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



MUCKKx\KEK8 

I heard a political! roar ; 
He ramped around the creaking floor ; 
He shook his fist, and nearly swore ; 
His collar from his neck he tore; 
And then he ranted more and more, 
Until I thirsted for his gore. 

This was his lofty song : — 
**I am the candidate to choose, 
The knaves in office now abuse 
The trust, which 1 would rightly use. 
AVhy do you slumber, wherefore snooze? 
Awake and listen to my views ; 
1 tell you what should he no news : — 

The other side is wrong !" 
Such was the import of the speech, 
Wherein the rascal tried to teach 
The lesson, which most scoundrels preach. 
Some shallow intellects they reach; 
But let me tell you, all anr» each. 
That those who longest, loudest screech 

Are very selfish elves. 
The slanderers of all the rest 
With virtue's charms are seldom blest ; 
Imposingly they may be dressed, 
Their language may be of the best ; 
Yet all their show should not divest 
Wise hearers of this thought impressed : — 

They're none too good themselves. 

Aug. 15, 1916. 



RABBIT HI NTERS ON THE PLAINS 

Where the sneaking coyote o'er the desolate 
prairie is roaming; 
And the jack-rabbit leaps from the bunch- 
grass in hasty retreat ; 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 105 



They gallop until their poor mustangs are 
panting and foaming, 
While hell owing hounds make a racket 
that hell cannot heat! 

Mad, terrified hunny, your innocent life they 
are seeking. 
While risking their own in a frantic, up- 
roarious race ; 
For a hadger's or prairie dog's hole in their 
course may he wreaking 
Swift vengeance on those who may stum- 
ble and fall in the chase. 

Far away, in a gulch, where the long grass 
a welcome is waving, 
A haven of refuge you seek, and I hope 
you may find. 
The Father, who wishes each poor hunted 
soul to he saving. 
May rescue you, too, from the fangs of 
the devil's own kind. 

Oct. 1, 1916. 



THE PASTOR'S ADMONITION 

My children, though it grieves my heart 
To go from those I long have know^n, 

Let not the trembling tear-drops start, 
As if I left you here alone. 

Another comes, whose voice may cheer, 
Whose words may guide as well as mine 

Your erring, halting foot-steps here 
Within the way of truth divine. 

In many sad, afflicted homes 
The pastor tries to cheer the heart — 

To smooth the path the spirit roams 
Before the time has come to part. 



106 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

O, let not enmity of race, 

Of class or creed destroy the love, 
Which leads you to the holy place, 

Where you may learn of things above. 

Oct. 1, 1916. 



THE DEPENDABLE ONE 

Hurrah for the lad who is alvrays on time, 

Who never dishonors his dates ; 
Whose watch w^ord is justice, whose purpose 
sublime 
Relies not on freaks of the fates ! 
He fears not life's conflicts, he never will 
run. 
And yet he abuses no man ; 
In spite of the gibes of each envious one, 
He still does the best that he can. 

Oct. 13, 1916. 



MY MOTHER'S PRAYER 

"Meet me in heaven," mother said, 

As I was watching by her bed. 

She knew the time was drawing nigh 

When, to its mansion in the sky, 

Her soul would wing its joyous flight, 

Content to bid the world good-night; 

Yet wishiiig, hoping, that above 

Again we might be joined in love. 

Ah, mother, gladly would I give 

My life on earth vrith you to live, 

Where'er your present home may be ; 

For you were all the world to me, 

The one true friend that I have known, 

And now I linger here alone! 

March 22, 1918. 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 107 



UNCONGENIAL SOIL 

He toiled in the garden, most fervently pray- 
ing 
That good might result from his diligent 
care ; 
But in that cold ground soon the seed was 
decaying 
Though nettles and briers found nourish- 
ment there. 

They stung him and pricked him unselfishly 
working ; 
And often he wondered in sorrow and pain, 
How others succeeded, who seemed to be 
shirking ; 
While he in his willingness labored in 
vain. 

Alas for such toilers, if nowhere above them 
Reward shall await them for what they 
have done ! 
Humanity sneers that the Lord does not love 
them ; 
But who shall be judge at the set of the 
sun? 

June 15, 1919 



THE FUTURE MAN 

"A princely child, a bouncing boy, the finest 

ever seen 
Has come to take the sceptre from a lovely 

household queen." 
So runs the burden of a song my nephew 

sent me — 
A grandpa, who is quite as proud as anyone 

could be. 



108 MISCELLANEOUS POE MS 

He sees himself reflected in the image of 

that son, 
Who smiles upon a \Yorld unknown, a voyage 

just begun ; 
Who dreams not of the trials, which time 

may have in store. 
When, tossed upon the billows, the tempests 

wildly roar. 
God grant that little sailor shall weather 

ev'ry blast, 
And in the golden harbor his anchor safely 

cast. 
O may he. like his grandpa, be healthy, good 

and wise, 
And look on life's vicissitudes with optimistic 

eyes. 

July 4, 1920. 



OLD AGE 



''Show me the road to the land of rest," 

A weary pilgrim said ; 
''For my eyes are dim, and my heart op- 
pressed, 

Is fluttering faintly within my breast 
As a light that is nearly sped. 

"I wandered far and I wandered long 
In the years which have gone by; 

My voice was lifted in mirth and song, 
For hope was high and the pulses strong, 

And I scorned to droop or sigh. 

"But fond ambitions have gone astray, 
And my old-time friends are dead ; 

AVhile the cold, gray gloom of a winter's day 
O'ershades the path, where my feet now 
stray 

With a halting and feeble tread." 



GEORGE W. WOODWORTH 109 



Rejoice, good pilgrim ! The goal is near ; 

And they, who have bravely given 
Their lives in elt'orts to aid and cheer 

Poor fellow-men in the valley here, 
Shall rest on the hills of heaven. 

May 18, 1918. 






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